By Perri Smith

Part One -- The Sea of Waking Dreams

In the skies around Epsilon 3, a space station rotated slowly, with stately grace and beauty. Lights flickered along its length, ships passing in and out of its bays, as the people within passed in and out of its halls. The station gleamed softly in the dim light from the sun and stars, sheltering the beings within as they went on about the business of living.

February 18, 2259
Babylon 5 Customs

It would be nice to say Zack Allan would have done the same for any new arrival on the station -- it might even be true, since Zack was basically a nice guy. But it certainly didn't hurt that the small, nervous redhead he processed through Customs was quite attractive, wore a long, flowing dress that didn't hide a single one of her curves, and had a soft British accent and a smile that made Zack feel about ten feet tall.

"This your first time on Babylon 5, Ms. Ross?" he asked, although her identicard said exactly that.

S.D. Ross didn't seem to notice. "It is," she responded with another one of those sweet, nervous smiles up at him. "It's... bigger than I thought it would be."

Zack offered her what he profoundly hoped was a friendly, reassuring grin. "Aw, it's not bad, once you know your way around. Just stick to the Zocalo until you get your bearings, stay out of Downbelow, and you can ask anyone wearing a Security uniform like mine for help. You're here to work?"

"To sing, yes," she confirmed. "I've a job waiting for me in Paulie's."

Zack's smile spread. "Hey, that's one of my favorite places, in Red Sector right off the Zocalo. Good people; you'll like it there."

"If they're as nice as you've been, Officer Allan, I'm sure I will."

"It's Zack," he told her, finishing up the paperwork and handing back her identicard, while trying not to blush.

"Sinjun, then," she reciprocated. "Thank you, Zack."

"Any time." She gathered up her bags -- three duffels and a guitar case -- and started out of customs. Zack caught the eye of one of the lurkers who hung around the port, looking for tips for hauling luggage, and gestured towards Sinjun; he knew this one was honest and wouldn't take her for a ride. Sinjun accepted the offered help with another grateful smile, and a grin back at Zack that said very clearly she knew where the help had originated. He blushed again and reached for the identicard of the Centauri that was next in line.

Well, that wasn't actually true, Garibaldi corrected himself. It was just that none of the paperwork his backshooting aide Jack had completed could be counted as legitimate, so it all had to be redone. Which meant hours and hours sitting in front of the computer when he'd much rather be out catching up on what everyone had done to his station while he'd been out of it.

He'd managed to convince himself that walking through Central Corridor and the Zocalo a few times a day was just as necessary to the well-being of the station as completing paperwork -- if nothing else, it kept him from going *nuts*.

The station was fairly peaceful, for once; the Drazi had stopped killing each other almost two weeks before, and no one else (outside of the usual Narn and Centauri conflicts) was showing signs of homicidal behavior, which was always a nice change. On the other hand, there was a wave of shoplifting sweeping through the Zocalo that Garibaldi was going to have to deal with. Great.

His path back to his office and the paperwork he couldn't avoid anymore took him through the edge of the Zocalo, the part close enough for tourists to find, but far enough away for residents to take advantage of it. Security patrolled heavily here, but there were still seven or eight assaults and attempted assaults a week. And as he headed through, Garibaldi heard the distinctive shouts of number three for today.

"Great," he groaned aloud. "*Just* what I need to make my day perfect."

He headed quickly in the direction of the scuffle, and found pretty much what he'd expected -- a gang of four Human lurkers pressing in on a single Human woman. "Hold it!" he barked, drawing his PPG. "Station Security, everyone freeze!"

The thugs turned as one, and two of them lunged for Garibaldi. He shot the closest one in the leg, which had a quelling effect on his partner. Everyone froze, giving Garibaldi a second to assess the situation.

Three thugs were still up, one on the ground, rolling around cradling his plasma burn. Of the three still standing, one looked unharmed; one of the others was carrying around a bloody nose and what was going to be a really nasty black eye. The third was bending over from what was either a kick to the stomach or the groin. Apparently their victim hadn't been quite as easy a mark as they'd anticipated.

Speaking of whom -- Garibaldi checked the victim and found a short woman leaning against the wall as if she couldn't stand alone. He automatically registered the short, ruffled red hair, pale skin and hazel eyes that were simultaneously scared and furious, with scared only slightly in the lead. Her dress was torn and her lip was bloody, but she seemed to be otherwise in one piece. "You all right?" he asked to make sure.

She nodded silently, not taking her eyes off her assailants. One of them smiled nastily and moved forward; she set her jaw and glared at him.

"Everybody back off," Garibaldi ordered, moving carefully around the thug on the floor to get in front of the woman, and hit his link. "This is Garibaldi; I've got a 4-32 in Red 14, four perps. Someone want to come help cart them off?"

One of the thugs snarled and started to make a break for it; Garibaldi fired a warning shot past his chest and the thug stopped cold. Less than a minute later, running footsteps announced the arrival of a security patrol.

"It's about time," Garibaldi told them only half-seriously. "Get rid of these losers, huh?"

"You got it, Chief," one of the guards answered, gesturing at his companions to start cuffing and frisking the thugs. Garibaldi watched for a second then, when he was sure everything was under control, moved over to the redhead, who was looking suspiciously like she was going to pass out.

"You okay?" he asked, putting his hand under her elbow to support her. She was even smaller than he'd thought, almost a foot shorter than himself, and a sturdy 115 pounds.

"I am now," she answered shakily, with an attempt at a smile, "Thanks to you." Her smile improved with the second try, and she shoved her hair off her forehead with a hand that trembled only slightly. "Your timing is very good."

He shrugged without letting her go. "All part of the service. Mind telling me what happened?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "It... was so fast. I was walking from the... Zocalo?... when they came after me. They wanted money, my credit chit." She lifted her chin in a gesture that might have been defiant if said chin hadn't been covered with blood from her bruised and split lip, and if it hadn't been shaking. "I wouldn't give it to them, so they decided to take it."

"Doesn't look like they were having much luck," Garibaldi observed, with a respectful look towards the thug who was still doubled over in pain, even as he was being restrained. "Still, you should be more careful where you go walking. This can be a pretty dangerous place."

"I noticed." Her voice was wry, but steady again. "Next time, I'll make sure I have lots of company."

"That's a helluva plan," Garibaldi agreed. "You gonna fall over if I let you go?"

She considered. "No. I don't think so."

"Good." She wavered when he released her elbow, but stayed vertical; he stayed within catching range, just in case.

"Chief!" Zack Allan came tearing around the hall with another security team at that moment, and took in the scene with a glance. "What the hell happened?" Then his eyes moved past Garibaldi to the woman, and widened. "Sinjun? Hey, you all right?"

"That seems to be the question of the hour," she joked weakly. "But yes, Zack, I'm fine."

"You know her?" Garibaldi asked his second.

Zack nodded, moving past the thugs to stand protectively by the woman. "Yeah, Sinjun came through on my shift yesterday."

"And I see you received a rousing Babylon 5 welcome," Garibaldi commented in the redhead's direction. Sinjun? What the hell kind of name was Sinjun?

"Oh, yes," Sinjun answered him with sweet sarcasm. "Do you treat all of your visitors this well?"

"Only the pretty ones," Zack assured her with an attempt at charm. Sinjun grinned in response, then winced as the motion pulled at her lip.

Garibaldi just shook his head at both of them. "Since you two are such good friends, you can escort, ah, Sinjun, to Medlab," he told Zack. "I'm gonna take these guys to Holding and throw 'em somewhere deep and dark."

"My pleasure, Chief."

"I'm actually fine," Sinjun tried to protest, but only opened up the deep cut on her lip again. Garibaldi gave her a sideways, downward Look and she blinked. "On the other hand, better safe then sorry?"

Her tone made it a question and Garibaldi tilted his head in approval. "Very good. You learn fast."

She wrinkled her nose at him, but allowed Zack to lead her off to Medlab. Garibaldi watched the pair go for a second, the tiny woman almost dwarfed by her taller companion, who hovered solicitously near her. Then he shook his head again and turned to start yelling at the lurkers.

Whatever his motivations, Paulie's was rarely empty when it was open. And for the past few nights, the crowds had become steadily larger, as word of the new singer spread. There were only a few live performers on Babylon 5, since the location didn't exactly encourage anyone to come through on tour, much less move in. The new act at Paulie's could have been performing Narn arias, and she still would have drawn some attention.

Instead, Sinjun Ross opted for smoky blues, romantic jazz and smooth, slow rock, nothing written much later than 2010. Dressed in an evening gown designed to play up her curves and play down her lack of height, she torched her way through "Ghost of a Chance," to all appearances so deeply into the music that nothing short of a direct assault on the station would shake her out of her trance.

The actuality was a little different.

*'Come to Minbar. Train with the Rangers. Go to Babylon 5. It'll be fun, you'll enjoy it, save the universe, kiss my ass....'* The snide mental sing-song trailed off into a mental sigh of extreme disgust. *Sinjun, my girl, how the hell did you wind up here?*

Automatically, she sent a bewitching smile towards the three EarthForce types at the bar -- Starfury jocks, judging by their uniform insignia and the arrogance in their stances. Two of the men's tongues hung out on cue. The third, a dark-haired cutie with lieutenant's bars, simply grinned in return. Sinjun upped the wattage on her smile, and his grew.

She gave up the unspoken contest by lowering her eyes 'shyly', and tried to pay enough attention to the piano to not screw up the segue into the next song. It had been almost ten years since she'd sung professionally, and three months in a bar on Mars Colony weren't exactly the same as what Paulie expected from his floor show. Still, it was work, and it didn't take too much time from her *real* job.

Four days on Babylon 5, and all she'd managed to accomplish was finding rooms that weren't too expensive or too run-down, getting mugged, and meeting the Chief of Security. And what a meeting *that* had been. There was the segue; she vamped the guys at the bar again as she slid into 'I Don't Want to Cry'.

"It's nice just about sunset
I watched you passing my door
It's all I can do not to run to you
But I don't want to cry anymore..."

Garibaldi paused at the front door for a second, his eyes coolly and calmly surveying the room. *Making sure of your ground, looking for trouble, and I bet you now know where every exit and possible weapon is. Paranoid much, Mr. Garibaldi?*

He looked like your average, everyday rent-a-cop thug in his brown Earth Force uniform, with a face that was nothing to write home about, brown hair that was buzz cut and didn't even attempt to disguise the fact that there was less of it than there should be, and hands that were shoved firmly in his pockets. Nothing special there -- unless you were close enough to see the sharp intelligence in those cool, calm blue eyes. Sinjun made a mental bet on just how many people had gotten into trouble underestimating this man, and had a sneaking suspicion her guess was on the low side. She was going to have to be careful.

She caught Garibaldi's eye and sent a smile his way; he nodded acknowledgement and came the rest of the way in, ignoring the maitre'd (*Alain's gonna love that*, Sinjun thought with amusement) and pulling up a seat at the bar next to the flyboys. They obviously knew each other, judging from the macho greetings all four exchanged.

Since Garibaldi had ordered a drink -- ice water, she knew from Sinclair's briefing -- and seemed to be settling in, Sinjun finished the planned set. As she wrapped up the last song, the flyboys left, clapping Garibaldi on the shoulder as they went. Lt. Cute lingered long enough to send another killer grin at Sinjun; she returned it with one of her best 'only in your dreams' smiles and he pressed his hand to his heart in mock pain. When she almost screwed up the song by giggling at him, he left with a satisfied smirk.

From behind the piano, Tony D'Amato looked at her sternly; she shrugged unrepentantly and brought the song home, accepting the light patter of applause as her due.

"I'm taking five, Tone," she murmured to her accompanist, laying down the old-fashioned mike that Paulie thought lent to the ambiance.

"As long as you're not taking what just walked out of here," he warned mock-sternly, tossing his head to get his long blond hair out his eyes without taking his hands off the keyboard.

"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache," she shot back, before making her way carefully off the stage and over to the bar. "Chief Garibaldi," she greeted him easily, sliding onto the barstool next to him. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd check and see how you were doing," he shrugged. "Nice music."

"Thank you, I try." The bartender brought over a glass of ice water and she sipped it gratefully. "And I'm doing fine. Your Dr. Franklin in Medlab is a wizard."

"He's pretty good at his job," Garibaldi allowed. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He might start thinking it's a compliment or something, and his god complex'll reach new heights."

"Wouldn't want that," Sinjun murmured into her glass; Mr. Garibaldi was not happy with Dr. Franklin, she assumed, sending a mischievous sideways glance at him. "Mind telling me why those three flyboys decided to leave just as I was finishing up?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you without having to watch Keffer and the rest of 'em drooling in your direction," he admitted baldly, "so I told 'em to take a hike." His blandly pleasant expression didn't change even when Sinjun choked on her drink. He just handed her a napkin.

"Well, that was honest," she said with as much dignity as possible when she caught her breath, caught between indignation and rueful amusement. "And they do not 'drool'; it lacks class. They simply... express appreciation."

He was laughing at her, damn it; his eyes were perilously close to twinkling. "Right. Appreciation."

She gave up on dignified and started chuckling, allowing herself to slump forward to lean casually against the bar. Damned if this assignment wasn't starting look reasonably entertaining after all. "All right, since evidently you're not here for a lesson in music... appreciation--" He tilted his head in acknowledgement of the point, "-- and you can see for yourself I'm none the worse for wear for my little... adventure, is there anything else can I do for you?"

"That's pretty much what I came for." He drank the rest of his water and stood up. "Try and stay out of trouble for a while, okay?"

She made a face at him, then laughed again. "I'll do my best. Stop in any time, Chief -- I still owe you one for the rescue."

"Oh, I'll think of some way for you to pay me back."

She timed her comeback to when he was almost, but not quite, out of earshot. "That's what I'm afraid of."

His only reaction was to give her a look of pained and offended innocence over his shoulder as he left.

Ambassador Delenn of Minbar paced back and forth around the garden. A well-known location for relaxation and thought, it was one of Delenn's favorite places to pause and meditate, to open herself to the universe and ask its advice.

Today, though, her thoughts were in too much of a whirl to settle, too frantic to relax, much less listen.

'You are no longer one of us'. How could Teronn believe that? How could any of them believe such a thing? She had dedicated her *life* to Minbar, to her people, and now, because she had made a choice that changed *her* life for *their* benefit, they looked upon her with suspicion, with mistrust. They asked the Gray Council to replace her.

How could they believe such a thing, believe she would turn her back on her people because her form, her body had changed? Her *soul* was still the same, and would always be.

She turned and paced back across the small garden area. Her hair flew in her face from the force of her movements, and she shoved the still-unfamiliar mass of it out of her eyes impatiently. Then, stopping and sitting on one of the stone benches, she forced herself to breathe, to think.

It wasn't truly their fault, she reminded herself. All on Minbar was tradition, based on what had happened before, what had happened over and over for hundreds, thousands of years. Changes were disturbing to Minbari, and this change -- even *she* was disturbed, when she looked in the mirror, and saw her new form. Why should the others not be equally shaken?

She calmed, gradually regaining her balance. Time, that was all that was needed. Time for them to realize not only *what* she had done, but *why* she had done it. The Gray Council would understand -- or, if they did not, she would explain it to them. And all would be well. All that was needed was time -- and, perhaps, a little faith.

The sound of quiet footsteps caught her attention, and she looked up, her face composed and carefully blank. A small Human woman stood a few feet away, respectfully waiting for Delenn to acknowledge her.

"May I help you?" Delenn asked politely.

The woman smiled, bowing her head slightly. "I was wondering if you might like some company. The garden is lovely, but a bit lonely."

Delenn considered, then nodded. "Yes. I think company would be most appreciated." She gestured to the bench beside her, but the woman dropped gracefully to the ground at Delenn's feet instead, crossing her legs and spreading her long skirts around her. They sat in silence together, contemplating the garden.

But the Human woman kept sneaking glances up at Delenn over her shoulder, and Delenn finally sighed. "It is all right, Sinjun."

Sinjun bit her lip, but twisted around enough to look openly at Delenn. "I'm sorry, Sat-- ah, Ambassador. I just.... This is going to take some getting used to."

"I quite understand," Delenn said wryly. "It seems there are many who agree with you."

Sinjun sat up straight. "Are they giving you trouble? Can I do anything?"

"No," Delenn assured her, firmly banishing the moment of self-pity. "It is something I must deal with; you have work of your own to do. Are you well here? At home?"

Sinjun looked troubled, but allowed the change of subject, to Delenn's relief. "I've been worse. This station..." She shook her head in what Delenn assumed was awe. "It's so different from Minbar. So many people, so many voices, noise everywhere...."

"You like it, then"

Sinjun grinned. "I *love* it!"

Delenn smiled in return. "Yes, I thought you might. You have found a place to live?"

"Yes, Zack -- a station security officer -- told me about some rooms in Red Sector when we were in Medlab a few days ago. They're not wonderful, but at least the beds are flat. I'll leave the address with Lennier."

"Good." Delenn frowned, ignoring the comment about the beds in favor of processing the first part of the sentence. "What were you doing in Medlab? And with station security?"

Sinjun winced, then looked distinctly guilty. "Oh. That. Ah... did I mention I met Chief Garibaldi?"

"No, you did not." Delenn looked sternly at her companion. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," Sinjun evaded. "I just... arranged some circumstances to put me in the position I wanted to be in."

"And that position would be?"

Sinjun sighed, giving into the inevitable. "Getting mugged."

Delenn blinked. "Excuse me?"

Sinjun refused to meet her eyes. "I set myself up to be attacked along the path Chief Garibaldi uses to get from the Zocalo back to his office every few hours. He interfered right on time and, ah, rescued me."

"Little knowing rescue was the last thing you required," Delenn observed with dry sarcasm.

Sinjun may or may not have heard the sarcasm; if she did, she ignored it. "Anyway, Garibaldi knows my face now, and has it filed in the 'young, cute, helpless' portion of his mind, which will make sneaking around him that much easier." At Delenn's look, she clarified, "Rule Number One of Being Sneaky: If you can't avoid get noticed, get noticed in a way that lets them think they've got you figured out. Print, file, move on."

Delenn quashed her first instinct, which was to upbraid the young Ranger for her reckless behavior. She should have expected nothing less from Sinjun, whose reputation far preceeded what little Delenn knew from personal experience. She settled instead for asking , "Are you unhurt, at least?"

The young Human shrugged, settling back against the bench. "A split lip, which Dr. Franklin took care of in Medlab. I've taken worse in training for much worse results. No worries."

Delenn sighed almost silently, shaking her head, but let it drop. "Have you contacted the Anla'shok Na yet?"

"I got a message from Sinclair yesterday. He was hinting to expect the first Rangers onboard station sometime in the next few weeks, to begin 'establishing a presence'. Nothing like giving me a lot of time to settle in."

Delenn nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that is what I expected. You can do as they require?"

"Not yet, but I'll know who to send them to by then," Sinjun said confidently. She got to her feet, shaking sand off her skirts as she rose. "I'd better leave before anyone sees us. A week, same time?"

"I will be here," Delenn confirmed. "Sinjun... please attempt to be more discrete in your dealings with Chief Garibaldi. He is... not an unperceptive man."

Sinjun rolled her eyes and grinned. "I noticed. Don't worry, Satai, I'll be good." She started to leave, then hesitated and turned back. "Satai... don't let them get to you. You did what you thought you had to do, and they're just going to have to live with it. And if you need anyone to kick that into their heads, I'm your woman."

From somewhere, Delenn dredged a smile. "Thank you, Sinjun. I am... grateful for your support."

Sinjun flashed a quick smile, then was gone. Delenn watched her go for a moment, then returned her gaze to the garden. If she concentrated, she could almost see the future in the waves of sand and stones.

Almost.

"...So, the ombuds kicked all four of 'em so far off-station, they'll need a map to find their way back. You don't need to worry about seeing them again."

Zack Allan leaned against the bar with the satisfied air of a man whose work here is done and took another sip of his (nonalcoholic) drink. Sinjun smiled at him, only having to fake her gratitude a little. Some of her more detailed nightmares for the last few days had centered around the four thugs who'd attacked her figuring out they'd been set up and coming to get some payback. They beat the other nightmares, but still hadn't been pleasant.

"That's good to hear, Zack," she told the security officer. "I'll feel a little safer going home now."

"All part of the service," he shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed; Sinjun wondered if he had any idea how closely he was echoing Chief Garibaldi. Probably not, she decided with a smothered smile. But it was very cute.

Most things about Zack were pretty cute, she'd decided after the third or fourth time he'd 'just happened' to drop by Paulie's on one of his breaks. The first two days, those 'breaks' had coincided amazingly well with the end of her workday, leaving him in the perfect position to escort her home. She'd started discouraging that after the third day, but Zack still showed up on a regular basis for some conversation and a quick boost to his self-esteem. And since he was second in command of Security -- and very sweet -- Sinjun was more than happy to oblige on both accounts.

"And there won't be any trouble from any of their 'friends'?" she asked now, one hand playing with her glass. "No one's going to take exception to to their, ah, rather unceremonious departure?"

Zack shrugged again. "Nah. They didn't have any friends here, near as we can tell, and they didn't go through N'Grath to fence what they made off with before they came up against you and the Chief." Sinjun snorted at the blatant flattery as he continued, "The bug was ready to blackball 'em, so they would've had to leave the station anyway. So, no problem."

"The bug?" Sinjun asked, extremely casually, but all of her senses alert. This was the kind of information she'd been waiting for. "Sounds unpleasant. Who is he, and how do I avoid him?"

"Ah, you don't have to worry about avoiding him," Zack 'reassured' her. "He never comes out of alien sector. But everything illegal on this station goes to him, eventually. He's kinda the Al Capone of B5, you know?"

"I get the idea, yes." Sinjun cocked her head to the side innocently. "If he's such a criminal, why haven't you or Chief Garibaldi arrested him yet?"

Zack made a face and admitted, "Well, N'Grath is pretty good at what he does. We haven't been able to pin anything major on him yet, and he kinda keeps a leash on the really bad elements, you know? Besides, if we took him down, three more bad guys would take his place."

"Better the devil you know...." Sinjun summed up absently, making mental notes.

"Yeah, exactly." Zack finished his drink and checked the clock behind the bar. "I better get moving -- I've got one more round to do. You sure you're okay walking home?"

Sinjun smiled at him. "I'm sure, Zack, especially since my, ah, dance partners are off-station. But thank you. Go on, get back to work, or I'll tell the Chief on you."

Zack chuckled, unimpressed. "Yeah, I'll tell him you said hi."

"Do that."

Zack left after paying Paulie, who was holding down the bar that night; the big man waited until Zack was out of earshot, then leaned heavily against the bar opposite Sinjun, his unlit cigar dangling from his mouth in what was, for Paulie, an expression of complete disgust.

"You know, if I'd known giving you a job was going to mean having every security uniform on this station hanging around," he observed severely, "I wouldn't've let Sinclair blackmail me into it."

"Blackmail is an ugly word," Sinjun said serenely.

Paulie lifted his considerable eyebrows at her, the pale blue-gray eyes under them hard and knowing. "Find me a better one."

"I didn't say it was wrong, just ugly. And it's not *every* uniform on the station -- just Zack and Lou and Coreen and...."

"And Chief Garibaldi, who *counts* as every uniform on the station."

"Once. He's been in here once."

"And he'll be back," Paulie finished. "You got any idea what happens to my business when Garibaldi or one of his goons is parked at the bar?"

"I haven't noticed any tables emptying," Sinjun observed innocently.

Paulie's eyebrows wrinkled ferociously. "That's not the business I'm talking about, and you know it."

Sinjun rolled her eyes. "Paulie, if the Chief wanted to shut down your back room, he'd have done it a long time ago."

"'The Chief' hasn't got any proof yet, and I'm gonna keep it that way."

"Oh, really? No proof?" It was Sinjun's turn to play eyebrow games, arching one delicately in his direction. "Who do you think told Ambassador Sinclair about your operation, thus allowing him to blackmail you?"

Paulie chomped on his cigar, scowling, but didn't deny the observation, or even look suprised. "And how the hell did you get so well-informed?"

Sinjun did an excellent impersonation of the Mona Lisa. "Did I forget to mention I'm omniscient?"

"Well, go be omniscient on stage," Paulie growled. "I'm not paying you to sit around schmoozing."

"It's twenty minutes until the next set," Sinjun pointed out.

"Then go bus tables or something," he snarled, straightening up as Sarah Jamison came over with an order for drinks.

The blond waitress threw a wink at Sinjun, ignoring their boss's thunderous expression. "Sin, your boyfriend is here, table four."

"Boyfriend?" Sinjun craned her neck and spotted the party in question. It was Warren Keffer, a.k.a. Lt. Cute, once again, live and in person -- which was something of a miracle, considering what that rumor mill had to say about his adventure in hyperspace that day. "He's not my boyfriend, Jamie."

"But he'd like to be," Jamie teased, deftly balancing four glasses and a bottle on her tray. "And I hear he had a rough day, so go cheer him up. Or I could take on the job," she volunteered with a leer Keffer's way.

Sinjun rolled her eyes, then took a closer look at Keffer. The pilot was undeniably a handsome guy, with dark skin and brown-black hair and eyes, and a wonderful grin that could light up the air in a twenty-foot diameter. Normally, that is. Tonight, Warren was slumped in his chair, staring absently into his drink. He wore his flight suit, as usual -- she had a sneaking suspicion he slept in it, like a child with a blanket -- and his normally cheerful face was sober , almost grim. He looked... bad, and he hadn't noticed her presence enough to even give his standard come on. Even on her limited acquaintance with Warren, that was not good.

"No, I think I can handle it." Sinjun collected her drink and ignored Jamie's half-hearted pout as she slid down from her barstool. "Excuse me, all, I'm going to go schmooze."

Paulie mumbled something rude in her direction as she left, which she ignored.

He'd lost count of how many members of Zeta Squadron -- *his* squadron, he reminded himself dolefully -- had bought him drinks in the casino that evening. All he was sure of was that it was fewer than the number of Cortez crew members who'd done the same. They'd been so grateful, so ready and willing to proclaim him a hero for getting them out -- when all he could remember was that his CO had died rescuing them. That *he'd* almost died.

He'd finally had to run from his own party, the one that had spontaneously generated as the Cortez crew felt the need to celebrate that they were alive. He'd stumbled out of the casino shortly after Captain Sheridan's arrival, and gone looking for someplace with dark corners and booze.

Paulie's fit the bill, and the price tags at the bar meant he could be reasonably sure no one from his squadron would come wandering in. Paulie's was for nursing one drink to flirt with the waitresses or entertainment, or for Events, like the promotion to Lieutenant they'd been celebrating with Bobby three, four nights ago.

Now it was Warren's turn to get promoted -- but he sure as hell didn't feel like celebrating.

"I don't think you're going to find the secrets of the universe at the bottom of that glass."

Warren thought about ignoring the voice, but his manners, painstakingly drilled into him first by his mother, than by EarthForce Academy, made him acknowledge the speaker before his conscious mind got to put in a vote. "Hey, Sinjun."

Normally, he would have offered a grin or a come on, but he couldn't summon up the enthusiasm to continue the game they'd begun a few nights ago, and continued with enthusiasm on both their parts. Sinjun didn't seem to expect it -- her hazel eyes were warm and sober as she slid into the chair across from him. "You look pretty good for a dead man," she told him seriously.

He smiled, his reflection twisted in the glass he held. Or maybe it was the smile that was twisted. "Reports of my death... Ah, you know the routine." He shook his head and took another healthy swig of his drink. "So, pretty much the whole station knows about it, huh?"

Sinjun lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "No details, of course. But they reported you missing, presumed dead, and... Well, that's the sort of news that travels fast. And Commander Galus...."

"Died a hero," Warren proclaimed with very little sincerity and a great deal of sarcasm, holding his glass up a toast. "Saved a colony ship from hyperspace, but got blown to bits by a nightmare before he even knew for sure what he'd done."

"A nightmare?" Sinjun sat up straight, her own glass sitting forgotten in front of her. "Warren, what are you talking about?"

He blinked at her, mild surprise making its way through the alcohol-induced numbness he was finally achieving. "A nightmare -- that's what killed him. Big black thing, like a spider or something, but uglier, like... I don't what it was like. A horror movie, or... Death....." The memory was enough to make him shudder, even in the safety of Paulie's. "It tried to kill the Cortez and then it killed Galus, then it almost killed me. And then my butt got saved because it came back to check its work or something. "

He shook his head, staring into his drink. "The worst part is, there's this part of my brain that thinks this is all some kind of hallucination. That I'm really back in that cockpit waiting for my oxygen to run out, or for that... thing to come back to finish me off. Like it did Galus. I tell you, nothing in my life has ever sounded as good as hearing the captain's voice when I came back through the jumpgate."

Sinjun's face had gone pale, Warren noticed with the one, increasingly small sober part of his brain, but he couldn't really work up the energy to figure out why. "The same thing that killed my CO wound up saving my ass. And I end up with his job. Where's the sense in that?"

"You expected sense from the universe, Warren? You're old enough to know better."

Her words were sardonic, but her tone wasn't, or her hand when she laid it over his. Warren actually laughed a little at Sinjun's crack, turning his hand over to catch hers. "Yeah, I guess." His laughter faded, and he went back to contemplating his rapidly-melting ice cubes. "I just... I wish I knew what thing was. Or... why it was. You know?"

"I do know," Sinjun said, tightening her hand on his as if in sympathy or understanding. But when he looked up and managed to focus on her face, she wasn't even looking at him. She was staring at a point right over his shoulder, not even in the same universe, much less the same room. It was like no one else existed, not even him.

"Hey, look, I didn't mean to dump on you," Warren told her, embarrassment warring with wounded pride as he tried to stand up, hampered by the fact that his balance had disappeared about three drinks earlier. "I can get out of your way if you want...."

Sinjun blinked when he tried to pull his hand away, then her eyes refocused on him with a snap. "Don't be silly, Warren, I'm always glad to listen when any of my friends need to talk. And I'm glad you're *alive* to dump on me," she added with obvious sincerity, squeezing his hand. "I was just... what you went through is enough to give *me* nightmares."

Reassured, Warren started to sit back down, then changed his mind and leaned precariously across the table, smiling one of his best smiles at the Sinjun in the middle. "So, we're friends, huh? Was it my devasting good looks or my charming personality?"

"It was your complete inability to hold your booze," Sinjun informed him with a laugh. "Although the other two are certainly on the list," she amended, when he sat back and tried to look hurt.

"Well then, how about showing me how glad you are I'm alive," he attempted, knowing there was no way in hell she was going to go for that one, but always willing to give it a shot.

Sinjun just laughed at him, rising gracefully from her seat and taking the few steps to his side. "Not tonight, dear, you're going to have one hell of a hangover. And I've got to get on stage." She leaned over and brushed a kiss across his forehead. "Stay for the set, then go home and sleep it off. And Warren?"

"Yeah?" He tried to focus up at her, but she was still leaning a little too close for his vision to handle.

He could see her smile, though. "Welcome home."

She laid her hand on his shoulder, then walked away towards the stage, and Warren sat back and relaxed, feeling the part of him that had frozen out there in hyperspace starting to thaw.

Welcome home. Yeah. All right.

She was sitting in the Zocalo with Nalenn, peacefully nursing a drink while regaling the old Minbari with one of her boarding school expulsion stories. Nalenn was listening with somewhat pained amusement, although he didn't wince until she hit the part about the lightflyer, the commencement ceremony and the 400 kilos of rotten eggs.

"...by the time we finished the third bombing run," she concluded through helpless laughter at the memory, "the entire tower looked as if it had been assaulted by a giant-sized chicken coop! The windows, the roof, the robes, the headmistress -- all covered! She could barely stop sputtering long enough to expell us!"

Nalenn shook his head slowly at the story. "You were, in fact, a hideous child," he concluded, as if it was news to him. "And what did this 'prank', as you call it, accomplish?"

Sinjun grinned happily at the memory. "It annoyed the Bastard, it got me kicked out of another school from hell, and it was a great deal of fun."

"Truly worthy objectives," Naleen said dryly. But Sinjun caught the smile he was trying to hide beneath the mask of reserved Minbari disappointment, and was unintimidated.

"Probably not," Sinjun admitted, "but they weren't bad at the time." She slumped down in her barstool and contemplated her glass, moving it around to admire how the light broke through the pale golden juice. It was something Centauri, she thought, and good despite its origins.

"There is a time," Nalenn said sternly, "to put away childish things. To make decisions about what you want."

"Yes, Nalenn." She nodded obediently in his direction, already tuning out the old lecture. She loved Nalenn dearly, but she could give this lecture *for* him.

"What *do* you want, Sinjun?" he asked again, more forcefully.

"Now there's a thought." Something about his voice caught her attention, and she lifted her head to look at him. "I don't think you've ever asked me that bef--"

Her breath caught in her throat and she stood abruptly, or tried to. But something held her to the seat, as the dark, shapeless form that had taken Nalenn's place leaned towards her. "What do you want?" it repeated in Nalenn's voice.

She shook her head numbly. "Nothing. Nalenn. I want Nalenn! Nalenn!" His name came out on a scream and suddenly she could move, jolting to her feet and stumbling back from the bar. She looked for help but no one else seemed to notice anything unusual. The gamblers went placidly on at the tables, conversations rose and fell, shifting around her and the black thing that had been Nalenn, as it rose without hurry and began walking away.

"Nalenn!" she screamed. "No! Give him back, you bastards!" Insanely, she chased the thing, desperately sure that if it got away, it would take Nalenn with it. She got her arms around the darkness, grabbed and pulled. Cold shuddered through her arms and into her body, mind-numbing, soul-destroying cold. Her gasp of shock was an indrawn scream, but she held on with blind determination. It stopped moving and she opened her eyes -- to find the darkness staring back at her with the Bastard's face.

"What do you want?" it asked, and she screamed again, and again....

It was just a dream. Just another nightmare.

As her breathing shuddered back under control, she pulled herself up until she was more or less sitting again, then swung her legs up and crossed them in the chair, straightening her back. Slowly, painfully, she smoothed her breathing and forced her racing, panicked mind into the first stages of meditation.

*Breathe, girl, breathe. In and out, in and out, ommmmmmm. Just like Sech Turval taught you. In and out, keep it under control or you're going to be whapped with that damn reed. In and out.... Better. Better.* Her mind cleared slowly and settled into the familiar patterns. Slowly, bit by bit, she put the pieces of herself back together.

*All right, girl, better. Just another damn nightmare, nothing you're not used to. Almost two weeks since Warren and his little 'encounter' and you're still seeing boogiemen. What would you do with a damn ghost story, hmm? Too damn much imagination, not enough self-control, just like Turval always said. Trust you to prove him right.*

The self-imposed tongue lashing began to do the trick. *Oh, lovely, we can think again. All right, Valen said that to understand something is the first step to taking away its power. So understand the dream and make it go away.*

Not that this dream took much understanding, she thought wryly, ignoring the mixed sweat and tears still on her forehead and cheeks. Shadow ships had haunted her dreams for years, ever since she'd first seen them in the old records, the almost-obscene illustrations from a far-too-effective horror novel. It was simply that hearing Warren's story, being personally affected for the first time by the careless, brutal chaos of the Shadows, was lending new fuel to the old dreams, giving them new forms to play in. Add that to the murders a week earlier, and her subconcious had been given ample material to take her on a new and, admittedly, terrifying trip.

*Other people have nightmares about being late to classes, or showing up in the Zocalo naked,* she groaned mentally. *I'm given visions of Shadows dancing in my head. Thank you very much.*

Dream duly analyzed and theoretically dismissed, breathing back to normal, she carefully opened one eye. Nothing jumped out of the corners, so she somewhat sheepishly opened the other eye.

She wasn't in her quarters as she'd assumed in the first, confused rush of consciousness, but in Paulie's back room, hunched over one of his computer systems, the one he used to generate fake identicards and tamper with various travel, personal and governmental records that weren't supposed to be tampered with. Other consoles were reserved for data transmissions, legal and otherwise, record keeping for a thriving operation in blackmarket tech (although not weapons or drugs; Paulie loftily claimed to have *some* standards), and various other operations that Sinjun hadn't been told about or figured out. Yet.

The other half of the room, blocked off by a heavy partition, was the home of a highly-illegal gambling operation, unhampered by the maximum stakes enforced at the casino -- or the maximum betting per week limits enforced on EarthForce personnel.

All in all, Sinjun figured Paulie was pulling in about four times as much from the back room operations as from the bar itself. She had no idea how he'd managed to keep nearly 300 square meters of room off of the official station blueprints, but apparently Sinclair did. Blackmail could be so useful.

And as long as she had access to Paulie's equipment -- far superior to the dead basic BabCom unit installed in her rooms -- she intended to put it to good use. Paulie grumbled and bitched a bit, but a knowing look towards the nearest security uniform or the dropping of Sinclair's name usually reduced the volume. Dropping Commander Ivanova's name would probably work even better, but Sinjun hadn't had to resort to that yet. And probably never would -- telling Ivanova about the Back Room would be immensely counterproductive, as satisfying as the look on Paulie's face would be....

Rubbing her injured knees, which were probably going to have some pretty colorful bruises after their close encounter with the desk, she frowned at the screen she'd had open before her unscheduled nap, and tried to pick up the thread of her concentration. Not easy to do, when she'd had perhaps three or four hours of dreamless sleep a night for the last two weeks.

"...Taro Isogi of FutureCorp arrived on station earlier, and spent all day in meetings with Amanda Carter, of the Mars business affairs committee. If he's planning on pouring money into Mars Colony, both the legitimate government and the dissidents and rebels are going to become extremely interested in that operation. I'll take bets on which side Ms. Carter reports to first."

Sinjun frowned and erased the last sentance, replacing it with, "Ms. Carter's alliances are officially with the sanctioned Mars government, but her personal attention to Isogi's offer indicates something more than casual interest in Mars's future. A connection to the Mars rebels is certainly possible." Much better; much more appropriate for a report to Hizzoner, the Anla'shok Na.

It ws the most interesting thing in the report, at any rate; there hadn't been much happening since Warren's close encounter two weeks earlier -- unless you counted the murders that had set the station on its collective ear for several days, until the creature had been caught and destroyed. That little outbreak had set Sinjun's teeth and nerves on edge for no apparent reason, to the point that she'd broken and and asked Zack for an escort home. It hadn't done much for the nightmares, either.

Off-station, the few Minbari Rangers in the field had sent reports from Narn and Centauri, but they were more of the same -- the Narn swearing to wipe out every Centauri on the planet while scheming to conquer everyone else, the Centauri frantically double-dealing to keep the Narn off of their throats.

Not that the attack on the research base in Quadrant 37 a few months earlier hadn't done a nice job of distracting the Narn. They were still trampling around and over the galaxy, trying to prove the Centauri had been behind the assault. Like all of the other Rangers, Sinjun had a better than fair guess as to the culprits -- it was motive she was still uneasily debating. Motive and intended results.

With a disgusted sigh that shuddered a bit more than she would have liked, Sinjun typed a few more paragraphs, appended the original reports from the Rangers, then saved the whole mess to an AV data crystal. She was expecting Rangers on station any day now; one of them would courier the crystal back to Sinclair.

The onscreen clock showed a good hour before her first set was due to start; just enough time to start playing with some of the other capabilities of Paulie's Play Chest. If she could *prove* the Centauri had somehow been involved in the attack in Quadrant 37, as most of the Anla'shok, including Sinclair, suspected, they'd have something to go on, a way to start tracking the attack back to the Shadows -- and figure out where they'd hit next.

"Work's done, time for the fun," she said out loud, shifting to the hacking computer. "Let's get sneaky."

Babylon 5 was essentially one large computer system, with each of the 200,000-some users assigned their own little chunk of memory, to access the StelCom system and store message transmissions, music, entertainment -- and personal and business records. In theory, each personal section was cordoned off internally by passwords and voice prints, unable to be accessed by anyone unauthorized.

In practice, Paulie made a very good living disproving that theory.

But Sinjun wasn't Paulie, and her hacking expertise was severely challenged by Babylon 5's security, as she tried to burrow into the Green-level files, reserved for the ambassadors and their staffs. She ran repeatedly into virtual brick walls, most of them signed blatantly and annoyingly, "Access Restricted, Security Chief Michael Garibaldi. Have a nice day."

"Bugger!" Sin swore out loud, leaning back in her chair as her latest tricky sidestep was tripped up by another of those roadblocks. She'd backed out just in time to keep from sending up a flag. "What the hell do you do, Chief, spend your days dreaming up ways to get around your own damn security, just so you can block them? Well, yes, you probably do," she answered her own question, sticking her tongue out at the screen. "Get a life, Garibaldi."

"If you're done talking to inanimate objects, would you mind leaving my stuff alone and doing your job?"

Sinjun leaned back in her chair far enough to look upsidedown at Paulie. "I'm not on for another fifteen minutes."

He scowled down at her around his unlit cigar, unimpressed. "Move it, Sin. You've been in here three hours -- and I *don't* want to know what you've been up to---"

"Would you believe playing solitaire?"

"No. But whatever it is, I got a poker game to run and some identities to fake, not to mention a bar full of people waiting to be entertained. So go entertain 'em. Now."

Sinjun grimaced. "Going." She got to her feet and stretched, then snagged her data crystal from the desk. "I should be done for a bit, anyway, so I relinquish use of the toybox. Prepare for the dazzling sounds of Sinjun Ross."

She headed for the door, but before she could get there, Paulie snagged her arm with one big hand. "I'm serious, Sinjun," he told her, his pale eyes flat. "Whatever you're in, whatever Sinclair's in, keep it out of my bar. I got a living to make, and I don't want to get caught in anyone's crossfire."

Sinjun studied him, then smiled a deliberately annoying smirk. "If you don't want excitement, you certainly picked the wrong place to set up shop." She pulled away with a simple twist against his thumb, and he let her go, following her out of the back room.

The door was concealed just down the hall from the bathrooms, and across from the kitchen, the storeroom and Paulie's official office, behind a panel that looked like every other section of the wall unless your voice print and heat pattern said otherwise. She checked the sensors, made sure the hall was clean, then stepped out.

The main room was starting to fill up, she noted as she hit the corner. Mostly Humans, as usual, but a few Narn -- good god, the Narn ambassador, G'Kar, was sitting at a table with a woman. A Narn woman, probably his aide Na'toth, but G'Kar probably wasn't going to spring for an expensive meal for her. He was waiting for a date, then; Sin made a mental note to strike up a conversation before said date arrived.

A few Minbari, she noted, casually studying the rest of the room, two Drazi, a Pak'mara and three Markab, all except the Markab accompanied by Humans. Paulie really needed to work on expanding his clientele, she thought absently, before her eyes were caught and riveted by two figures sitting in the shadows to the side of the stage. Two Human figures, dressed in the brown uniforms of the Rangers.

*I'll be damned,* she thought numbly. *It's really happening. Sinclair is really pulling this off.*

"See something interesting?" Paulie rumbled behind her. She blinked and regained her composure with an effort, turning just enough to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at her 'boss'. "Remember what I said," he told her flatly. "Not in my bar."

She didn't bother to answer, but headed for the stage, where Tony was already warming up. And as she passed the two Rangers, she lifted her hand to finger the chain around her neck, catching the eye of the blonde one as she did so. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Message received.

No set had ever taken as long as that one did, the thirty minutes of music stretched to what seemed like hours. With an effort, she kept her eyes off of the Rangers and floating around the room, offering a smile and a moment's attention to each customer. Ambassador G'Kar came in for an extra, carefully-calculated smile -- she wanted him receptive to conversation, not trying to pick her up, as his reputation among the waitresses said he was wont to do. He nodded back with an expression that suggested his reputation was not exaggerated, and she began cataloguing ways to refuse passes without offending male ego.

None of which distracted her very well from the two men in the corner. Casual glances had given her the impression of a tall blond man, well-built, handsome and self-assured, about five or six years older than herself, and a younger, dark-haired man who seemed to define hyperkinetic. The force of his personality was almost visible -- he looked as if he was in motion even when he was sitting still.

The two men nursed drinks, and the younger one flirted with Jamie every time the waitress came his way. The older one restrained himself to a few smiles, his eyes discreetly but constantly studying the room.

*Looks like Sinclair's recruiting has been doing pretty well,* Sinjun concluded as she cruised towards the end of the last song in the set. *Well, let's get this show on the road.*

"Good set, Tone," she told her accompanist absently, stepping away from the antique-looking floor mike to a light patter of applause. "Catch you in twenty?"

"I'll be here," he said, already halfway to the bar and the stacked brunette who'd caught his eye halfway through the set.

Sinjun left the stage more leisurely, and did a quick round of the tables, stopping to speak to the faces she recognized and sending another smile G'Kar's way, although she avoided his table. Another night, she'd make conversation and dodge hands; tonight, she didn't have the time.

Finally, she worked her way back around to the place she really wanted to be, and casually leaned against one of the empty chairs at the four-person table, her back to the room and her body blocking the occupants of the table from view. "Welcome to Paulie's, gentlemen."

"Glad to be here." She had to suppress a grin at the open enthusiasm in the dark-haired man's voice; he was having *far* too much fun, nearly bouncing in place. "Ms. Ross, right?"

"That would be me," she answered, as the blond quelled his younger companion with a look. "And who would you be?"

"I'm Joe Ericsson, and this is William Cole," the blond introduced them.

"And we're on a mission from God," William finished. "Or at least, from the Anla'shok."

Joe rolled his eyes and Sinjun winced. "Volume control, please, William. Or does some part of the word 'undercover' escape your understanding?"

Her voice wasn't as harsh at it should have been -- she liked this young man already. And she liked him even more when he winced and said, "I'm sorry. I'll watch it," without losing his smile. Good god, that accent was British, although somewhat removed from her own. Colony world, maybe?

"Good," she replied out loud, giving him the smile normally reserved for charming-yet-annoying pilots, then added more quietly, "This isn't actually the best place to talk -- lose yourselves for a few hours, then head for my quarters in Red 17, block 25, number 14. I'll meet you at the end of my shift. And try not to be seen -- the last thing I need is one strange man seen around my quarters, much less two."

Joe chuckled. "We'll try not to do too much damage to your cover."

"It's not my cover I'm worried about," she shot back. "It's my reputation."

William opened his mouth to respond to that, and both Sinjun and Joe glared. He shut up, but his smile grew broader, if that was possible. "We'll see you in a few hours, then," he said instead, looking very innocent. "Red 17, 25, 14."

Sinjun shook her head at him, then straightened. "Try not to get lost on the way -- I understand it's embarrassing to have to call Security for a rescue."

"Wouldn't have to go far," Joe commented. When Sinjun gave him a questioning look, he gestured over her shoulder. Sinjun turned -- and her heart stopped when she saw Chief Garibaldi leaning on the bar talking to Paulie.

She recovered quickly, sending him a quick grin before casually turning back to the two Rangers as if making her excuses to ordinary customers. "Great. The Chief. Take a look, gentlemen, that is one of the people you want to avoid for the moment. I'm going to go distract him -- have they taught you how to become one with the shadows yet?"

"It's only been a week since training started, " Joe responded almost seriously. "I think that comes later."

"And man, are the Vorlons brassed off about it," William chimed in with an evil grin.

Sinjun glared halfheartedly at him, then changed it to a plastic smile and offered them an "Enjoy your stay," for the benefit of any onlookers before she strolled away towards the bar, carefully not looking back.

Garibaldi was still talking to Paulie, as she came within earshot. "...it's a funny thing," he was saying, "someone was nosing around the station files today -- in fact, they were trying to get into my security files."

"You don't say," Paulie muttered through the teeth clenched around his cigar, sounding vastly disinterested as he built a drink. Sinjun swallowed hard, then realized Garibaldi had said 'security files'. Not her, then. She hoped.

Garibaldi took another sip from his drink and set it back down on the bar, just carrying on a casual conversation. Yeah, right. "You know, I almost had his one, but whoever it was, he has damn good equipment, managed to slip away before I could grab him. This time."

"Yeah, well, better luck next time," Paulie said with great insincerity, bellowing at Jamie, "Drinks up!" He retreated to the end of the bar with a glare towards Sinjun. She winced again, but took her cue.

"Hello, Chief," she greeted Garibaldi, sinking onto the bar stool next to him with forced casualness, far too aware of the two Rangers at her back. "Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"Aw, you know how it is," he shrugged. Garibaldi looked as relaxed as he ever got, although his 'on duty' expression was firmly in place. "Defending the station, watching out for bad guys, running the universe -- kinda eats up your spare time."

"I'm sure it's a heavy burden," she murmured, hiding her smile (not very well) behind the drink Jamie had brought her.

Garibaldi grinned a 'touche' in her general direction. "I was in the neighborhood doing rounds, so I figured I'd stop by, see how things are going, rattle Paulie's cage. Aside from computer sneaks, things are pretty slow out there tonight."

Sinjun gave him an exaggerated sideways glance. "Chief, you should know better than to say things like that. It's like issuing a dare to the universe!"

He shrugged philosophically. "Hey, in this place, I figure all hell's going to break loose no matter what I do. Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts --" On cue, his comlink 'bleeped' softly, "--which generally ain't that long. Garibaldi," he said into the link, after tapping it to life.

"Chief, we got a 4-79 in Red Sector, Deck 8," Lou Welch's voice came over the link. "Looks like a murder."

Garibaldi swore under his breath. "On my way."

"Better hustle it, Chief -- Ms. Winters is involved."

"Talia?" Garibaldi's face went blank and Sinjun looked at him curiously. "Is she all right?"

"She's in one piece, but she's kinda shook up."

"All right, call Medlab, tell Franklin to get someone there *yesterday*, and keep guards on Ms. Winters until I get there. And notify the Captain!" He said the last as he was already half-running from the bar, not even slowing down enough to toss Sinjun a farewell.

"Hello and good night to you, too, Chief," she said to his back, without any real heat; she was too busy thinking. So Garibaldi still had a thing for the resident commercial telepath? Interesting. And someone murdered -- did it have anything to do with the telepath's contract with Isogi and Carter? Anti-Mars action or a random assault? She'd have to pry the details out of Zack or Coreen later.

At least Garibaldi would be too distracted tonight to remember William and Joe....

"Security files?" She blinked and looked up into Paulie's furious face. His teeth were clenched tightly around his cigar, his eyes hard. "You were in Garibaldi's security files? From *my* com unit?"

"Hey, I am completely innocent," Sinjun protested. "I wasn't anywhere near the security files, I was trying to--" She broke off abruptly, not really wanting to admit what she'd been doing. "I wasn't anywhere near the security section," she continued carefully. "Garibaldi's got someone else to watch out for."

Paulie's eyes were narrowed to slits as he studied her. She set her jaw and stared back. "I don't like this," he finally said. "I don't like any of it."

Sinjun laughed, a short sound that came out more like a snort. "Well, believe it or not, that makes two of us."

She turned to check on the other two Rangers, but their table was empty. She studied it for a long moment through narrowed eyes, then pursed her lips and nodded once. "But it doesn't look like there's a hell of a lot of choice anymore."

She didn't know if she was talking to Paulie or herself.

Sinjun Ross's quarters were small and spartan -- one room with a small flat bed, a sofa and coffee table, three chairs around a small dining table, and a single dresser. There was nothing on the walls, no junk or clutter lying around, and the tiny kitchenette was as clean as if it had never been used. All of the furniture had the battered, neglected air that came with being prefurnished and the walls were a battered industrial beige that nicely matched the worn tile floor. A guitar set carefully on top of the dresser, the few clothes hung in the small closet, and the scarlet blanket tossed over the bed were the only signs that the room was actually inhabited.

Joe Ericsson had made himself comfortable on the sofa, the two Minbari Rangers, Anric and Dorann, who had accompanied them to the station following his lead. William, too keyed up with excitement and nerves, chose instead to roam.

After his fifth or sixth lap around the room, Anric looked up at him curiously. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Cole?"

"What?" William looked at him, confused, then realized what he was doing. Minbari didn't move around when they were nervous -- in fact, they usually tried not to look nervous at all. "Sorry, Anla'shok Anric. It's a Human thing -- pacing."

"More precisely," Joe said without moving a muscle, "it's a William thing. Some of the rest of us have self-control. Will you please sit down, Will, you're making *me* nervous."

"Sorry," William apologized again, and forced himself to lean against the kitchenette counter, crossing his arms and trying to be still. His resolve lasted all of one minute, then he had to start pacing again.

If Marcus could only see him now. All the snide comments and veiled insults his older brother had made about William's wanderlust, his delight in travel, his refusal to stay in one place too long -- but it had all had a purpose. It had all been leading him to this time, to this place -- to these people and this cause.

The Anla'shok. The Rangers.

Only three weeks ago, Ambassador Sinclair had called William from the capital city of Yedor to Tuzanor, even sending a lightflyer to pick him up. William had met Sinclair once before, when the Ambassador had welcomed him on planet, but he'd had no idea what the reason had been behind this return trip. He had waited outside the office, running his every action over the last month frantically through his head, trying to discover what gross error he'd made, what horrible diplomatic incident he'd somehow caused without being aware of it.

Nothing had come to mind. He loved Minbar, and had taken delight in the Minbari since his first day on the planet. Such peace, such harmony, of people and buildings and planet. An old race, with thousands of lessons to teach to anyone who listened. Yes, he loved Minbar immediately.

When he'd finally been admitted to the ambassador's office, he'd taken the seat in front of Sinclair's desk and tried not to sweat. Sinclair had leaned back in his chair, studying William for what seemed like forever, but had probably only been a few minutes. Finally, he'd leaned forward, steepling his hands on the desk.

"You've been enjoying your stay on Minbar, Mr. Cole."

It hadn't exactly been a question, but William had chosen to answer it as one anyway. "Yes, sir, I have. I've been allowed access to the Great Library here on Yedor -- I think I've gotten a pretty good grasp of the religious caste dialect, well enough to read it, at any rate. I don't think I'm speaking it very well, although everyone is very careful not to laugh at me."

He'd leaned forward in his chair, his enthusiasm for his discoveries winning out over his discomfort and fear. "Their libraries are amazing, Ambassador! There are records going back thousands of years, by hundreds of thousands of historians and scientists and storytellers. Details on how their society was formed, on their Great Leader, Valen, on how they've governed themselves for so long without civil war or poverty...."

He'd trailed off self-conciously when he'd realized Sinclair was hiding a smile. "Uh, well... Yes, I've been enjoying myself a great deal."

"Good, good." Sinclair had nodded, growing sober again and continuing to study William. "Tell me, what are your plans after you leave Minbar?"

William had swallowed hard, running a hand through his shock of dark hair. He must have done something really terrible; he was getting kicked offplanet instantly. "I'm... not sure, sir. I haven't really though that far ahead yet."

"You should," Sinclair had said seriously. "You should always look to the future. In fact, that's what I would like to speak with you about."

He'd paused, and William had taken his chance. "Ambassador Sinclair, I don't know what I've done, but I apologize if I've offended anyone, or stepped on any toes. I'll make amends to anyone you feel necessary, or leave if you think I should, but I didn't mean...."

Sinclair had held his hands up as if to block the rush of words, laughing. "No, William, relax. You haven't done anything wrong -- quite the contrary, in fact." He'd paused, as if searching for the way to frame a thought, then said, slowly, "You're the first Human I've chosen to approach about this, William; in fact, you were the first person I thought of. You see, I've recently discovered I have... another job to do, here on Minbar, and I believe you are going to be very important in helping me to do it."

And Sinclair had told him about the Anla'shok, the legendary Rangers William had found passing references to in the Minbari records. Formed by Valen himself to keep the peace, to prevent war, and to fight the Shadows, they'd functioned for a thousand years. And now Sinclair was asking him, William Cole, interplanetary wanderer and dilettante, to join the Rangers.

He'd agreed, of course, without a thought or a qualm. Training had started a week later and now, a single week after that, he was here on Babylon 5 with another trainee and two full-fledged Anla'shok, in the brown, faintly medieval, more-than-faintly Minbari uniform, on his first mission to help save the galaxy.

Heady stuff; no wonder he couldn't sit still.

"Where is she?" he said out loud, making another run between the far wall and the kitchenette. "She said three hours and here we are."

"I'm sure Anla'shok Ross will meet us as soon as she is able," Anric said, his brown eyes very calm and his body still.

"She should be able sooner," Dorann said with an edge of impatience. "This is not a game."

"Dorann," Anric said softly, and the other Minbari quieted, looking faintly embarrassed, if William was any judge of Minbari body language. Dorann was very pretty, he thought again, with the fragile bones of a child and soft blue eyes that seemed to see right into anyone they touched. If he hadn't seen her working out with the denn'bok, the traditional Minbari fighting pike, he'd have thought she was incapable of hurting a fly, much less being a member of the warrior caste. Now, he was very careful not to get on the bad side of her controlled, but formidable, temper.

"I just wish we could get on with this," William sighed, making another effort to stand still.

"Be careful what you wish for," Joe warned, his tall body now slumped even further down on the sofa, and his eyes closed as if he was asleep. "You might get it."

Before William could make the comeback that cliche richly deserved, the door slid open. Everyone was on their feet instantly, even Joe -- so much for relaxed, William thought irrelevently.

The redhead coming into the room jumped back, startled, then relaxed out of her fighting stance and stepped further inside, allowing the door to close before crossing her arms and glaring at the four of them collectively.

"I said meet me here, not break into my rooms," Sinjun Ross said with great irritation. "And may I ask just how you got in here?"

"You said you didn't want us seen," William explained quickly, in the interest of self-preservation, "and Joe here has some interesting talents. Including picking computer locks."

"Lovely. Don't demonstrate them on my quarters again." Sinjun kicked off her high heels, leaving her several inches shorter, and ran both hands through her short hair. "I was expecting you lot two days ago."

"Training began later than the Anla'shok Na would have liked," Anric said calmly, templing his hands in front of him. "We bring his greetings and respect."

Sinjun's scowl darkened as she faced the two Minbari. "Anla'shok Anric. Anla'shok Dorann."

"Anla'shok Ross," Anric returned the greeting gravely. Dorann just nodded once, curtly. "I trust you are doing well."

"Well enough," Sinjun shrugged. The casual movement didn't hide the tightening of her jaw and the way she carefully did not look at Dorann. "Well, you're here now, so let's get down to it. Here's my latest report for Ranger One," she said, holding a data crystal out to Anric. "Some interesting events tonight -- I'll have a more complete report in a few days, after I pump a few of the Security people for information. But this should do for now."

William wondered if he was imagining the stiffness in Sinjun's voice when she spoke to the Rangers. But Joe's eyes had sharpened, too, so probably not.

If the two Minbari heard it, they let it pass. Dorann took the data crystal and tucked it away inside her tunic. "We will deliver your information as soon as we return to Minbar."

"You do that," Sinjun said shortly.

It was Dorann's jaw that tightened this time, but Anric interceded before the other Minbari could say anything. "We have a great deal of work to do here as well, and we will need your assistance."

Sinjun and Dorann glared at each other for another long moment, then Sinjun looked away. "Right." She settled onto the couch on Joe's other side -- William didn't think it was coincidence that that put her as far as possible from the two full Rangers -- and tucked the skirts of her long red dress up under her legs. "To set up the accounts, you'll have to go through the Bab5 Exchange -- they'll turn the Minbari money into universal credit chits you can deposit anywhere on the station. Anric or Dorann should do the initial exchange, but all of you should set up the accounts. The best places to go are probably Da'Nak First Interstellar and the EA Credit Union -- Da'Nak doesn't ask questions of anybody, and nobody asks questions of EACU."

"And food and medicines?" Joe asked, twisting on the couch so he could look at her. "Any idea where to start asking for supplies? Discreetly? Or are the Rangers-in-training going to continue to subsist on Minbari rations?"

William couldn't help making a face, and a quickly-suppressed smile flickered across Sinjun's face. Anric looked inscrutable, Dorann glared.

"For food, talk to Mr. and Mrs. Chang," Sinjun answered, her face back under careful control. "They run a grocery in Central Corridor, Red 15. Their son Manny has his own ship and brings everything in for them, so they can get anything, and the shipping records will be hard to trace. We can divert what we need in the docking bays, without having to bring it past Customs."

"Will they be willing to deal with us?" William asked, leaning forward.

Sinjun shrugged. "Probably, but you're going to have to tell them at least some of the truth. They're good people, with good instincts, but they don't deal with the black market at all. In fact, Manny is one hell of a guy -- definitely a possible recruit for the Rangers, if we can find someone to take over his ship while he's training."

"We will speak with him, but that is for the Anla'shok Na to decide," Dorann said curtly. "Medicines?"

Sinjun, who had started to relax with the shoptalk, tensed again at Dorann's tone. "Nothing firm yet," she said stiffly. "But there's a man named Orwell in the quartermaster's office who is rumored to be able to obtain anything. He'll work for money, nothing else, but it's a place to start."

"Then we will start there," Anric said, playing peacemaker again. "Is there anything else we should know about this station before we begin?"

Sinjun relaxed deliberately back into the sagging cushion of her couch, but her eyes stayed flat and wary. William fought back the urge to pat her shoulder, and kept his hands to himself, sensing she probably wouldn't welcome the offer. In fact, he'd probably draw back a bloody stump.

Instead, he leaned forward a little further, and paid attention as Sinjun began to lecture.

"The leader of the black market, and damn near every other form of crime on station is N'Grath -- insectoid, very powerful, with very few scruples," she started, leaning forward as well. "It would be best if the Rangers avoided his attention. I doubt he'd care about our existance, but he'd be quite happy to sell information about us to anyone who'll pay. There's also a small, but unfortunately growing, group of Earth Firsters and Homefront wandering around the station who could cause problems...."

William nodded and jotted down the last of his mental notes. Sinjun's 'all' was pretty damn impressive -- she'd been talking for almost an hour, reeling off reams of information on the station, from structure, to chain of command to people and places. Most of which they already had from the Anla'shok Na, but some of which William suspected would be a surprise even to Ranger One himself. Like the unreported telepaths Sinjun had found evidence were being filtered through the station...

Anric nodded once and rose; the others followed his lead. "Thank you, Anla'shok Ross, your briefing has been excellent."

Joe and William seconded the appreciation; Dorann remained silent until Anric sent a significant, and stern, look her way. "Your work has been... well done," Dorann said, reluctantly. It looked like the words hurt, and she added quickly, "See that it remains so."

Sinjun's eyes had narrowed to slits, at either the patronizing tone or the implied insult of the words themselves. "I serve the Anla'shok Na," she said levelly, through her teeth, "as every Ranger does." As if to emphasize the point, she pulled the chain of her necklace from beneath her dress, letting the pendant, a small replica of the two-figured isil'zha brooch both Anric and Dorann wore, dangle in full sight.

Dorann's face tightened harshly, and she turned and left Sinjun's quarters without another word. Joe looked from Anric, quietly and painfully resigned, to Sinjun, quietly and painfully furious, and walked tactfully after Dorann, wishing Sinjun a quick, "Good night."

William understood tact, but understood curiosity better. He hovered by the door and tried to become invisible. It seemed to work; at least, neither Anric nor Sinjun acknowledged his continuing presence.

"Sinjun...." Anric finally said; his voice trailed off as if he didn't know what words came next.

"Don't, Anric," Sinjun said tightly, still sitting on the couch, her hand clutching her isil'zha so hard her knuckles were white. "Don't you dare defend her."

"You must understand..."

"Understanding is not required'," Sinjun quoted with a bitter twist of her mouth, "and I'm tired of understanding anyway. I'm also tired of proving myself to warrior caste bigots."

Anric flinched, but didn't argue the word choice. "It is difficult for her, Sinjun. You know what it cost her to defy the warrior caste, to remain with the Anla'shok against their wishes--"

"Their wish for their caste to abandon the Rangers, abandon their oaths, rather than serve under a Human?" Sinjun clarified with acid sweetness. "I know all about it. You'll forgive me if I have a problem feeling much sympathy."

William saw Anric bite back his first response; the Ranger took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. *Something else Minbari and Humans have in common...*

"I thank you again for your assistance," the Minbari said carefully, instead of whatever had first come to mind, "and I leave you to your rest."

Sinjun nodded without looking at Anric. The bitterness had faded, leaving her looking simply... tired. "Right," she said tonelessly. "I'll meet you again in... two days? And I'll be in Paulie's if it's an emergency."

Anric nodded agreement and, without saying anything else, walked gracefully to the door. It opened to let him pass and William started to follow. Something stopped him on the threshold, though; he debated with himself, then turned around.

Sinjun was still huddled in the corner of the couch, her hand still touching her pendant, smoothing it back and forth between her fingers. The short waves of her hair fell forward into her eyes, as if she didn't have the energy to even brush it back. This was not the legendary Ranger/pain in the neck (depending on who you asked) spoken of in Ranger training. This was a woman barely older than himself, who looked very young and very alone.

"Can I come to Paulie's even if it's not an emergency?" he heard himself asking lightly. "I hear you put on the best show around."

"This is a space station, that's not saying much," she shot back automatically, before actually looking up at him. "And you shouldn't come, people will notice if they see the uniform hanging around Paulie's."

"They're supposed to notice the uniforms hanging around, that's sort of the point," William pointed out. "To let people get used to seeing us."

Sinjun gave him an exasperated look and William patted himself on the back -- exasperation sure as hell beat weary loneliness. "Let me rephrase -- *Security* will notice if you start hanging around Paulie's, because that's where all of *them* hang out these days."

"True," he nodded in agreement, then spoiled it by grinning at her. "What better place to hide than in plain sight? See you tomorrow." He ducked out the door before she could get her protest past her lips, grinning.

Anric was waiting patiently for him in the hall, an expression of bland curiosity on his face. William shrugged in answer. "What's with her and Dorann?" he asked bluntly.

Anric started walking and for a moment, William thought the Minbari was just going to pretend the question hadn't been asked, as Minbari were wont to do. But, after a moment, Anric shook his head and said, "You are aware of the circumstances which ended the Human/Minbari war, are you not?"

William nodded. "As much as anyone knows, which is as much as the Minbari will tell us." William paused but Anric didn't say anything. "We know you were about to annihilate us, then you just... stopped. And surrendered. But you won't tell us why."

And apparently no one was going to be told tonight, as Anric, once again, ignored the implied question. "The warrior caste... was not entirely in agreement with that decision. As a result, they have always had problems with Humans, stemming largely from our surrender to them on the verge of victory. In her time on Minbar, arriving as soon after the end of the war as she did, I fear Sin... Anla'shok Ross bore the brunt of a great deal of that... intolerance."

For 'intolerence', read 'resentment and loathing,' William mentally corrected. He'd run into some problems of his own with warrior caste hotheads who felt they had something to prove, and tried to do so by forcing confrontations with Humans. None of the encounters had ended pleasantly -- several had come entirely too close to bloodshed, in fact, even eleven years after the war's end. William thought of enduring ten years of that, with the wounds of warfare still open and raw on all sides, and winced in sympathy. And Sinjun couldn't have been more than a teenager....

"But she's a Ranger now," he thought out loud. "She and Dorann are on the same side."

"Yes, they are," Anric agreed. "The problem is convincing them of that."

They had reached the transport tube, where Joe was waiting patiently. Dorann was nowhere in sight. "She said something about getting some air," Joe answered the question before Anric had time to ask it. "I decided to let her get it alone -- she doesn't seem too pleased with Humans at the moment."

Anric sighed. "A wise choice on your part; I will speak with her. She is a dedicated Ranger, but she, and others like her, have many... issues of their own that must be dealt with, if ever we are to fight together as comrades."

"Amen to that," William muttered. Joe glared half-heartedly at him, but Anric once again displayed selective deafness and started down the hall alone. The tube opened and Joe and William got in.

"Red 15," Joe ordered and the tube began humming along obediantly. It was late night on the station, almost morning, so they were alone on the tube; the two men stood in silence, until William finally asked his partner, "Well? What do you think?"

Joe thought about it for a long time. "I think," he finally said, "that we're all either going to save the universe or die pretty spectacular deaths. And, at the moment, I'm not taking any bets on which guess is the right one."

William nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Neither of them felt the desire to say anything else, as the tube carried them silently to their rented rooms.

For the third time that morning, Michael Garibaldi caught himself falling asleep at his desk.

He'd managed to catch himself just before he started snoring; at least, he hoped he had. It was bad for morale for the chief to get caught sleeping on duty -- that kind of thing destroyed the 'all-knowing, all-powerful' image the troops were supposed to have of their boss. Still, he hadn't slept in 36 hours and it would have been real nice to sack out for just five minutes.

Just to be on the safe side, he swung his feet down from his console and sat up straight, attempting for the third or fourth time to focus on the forensics reports on what was left of Amanda Carter's quarters. Not that there was too damn much to report. Human remains, the blasted shreds of what might once have been some pretty expensive cybernetics, and few bits and pieces of clothing. That was all that was left of the thing that has once been a man named Abel Horne.

Garibaldi leaned back in his chair and let it swivel slowly from side to side, tapping a pen thoughtfully against his chin. He still wasn't sure he believed the conspiracy theory the captain had been dishing out last night -- he'd never had much time for conspiracies outside of two or three perps teaming up to smuggle something onstation. But what had happened to Horne -- the cybernetics, the secrecy, the cold-blooded assassination of Isogi -- that sounded like someone with a higher agenda, and the money to indulge it.

So maybe this Bureau 13 was real.

But, real or not, he couldn't do anything about it at the moment. What he could do was finish plowing through the forensics report, write his own report for Sheridan, and then try to get some real work done.

Two hours later, he'd finished both reports, put together the duty roster for the next week, had three people complain about the duty roster, talked to Ivanova about security for the T'Kar delegation, and was just about to call it a morning and go snag a few hours sleep before the Ombuds session that afternoon.

Before he could make it out from behind his desk, Zack Allan stuck his head through the door. "Chief? You got a second?"

"No." But Garibaldi sat back down anyway, shaking his head. So much for catching up on the sleep he'd lost to cyberzombies and conspiracies over the last two days. "What've you got, Zack?"

Zack came the rest of the way into Garibaldi's office, tapping a datapad against the heel of his hand. "Well, you know that All Points that came through a few days ago, looking for that runaway kid?"

Garibaldi thought back, and vaguely remembered a memo to that effect. Yeah, a fifteen-year-old, dark hair, green eyes, too damn young. He remembered the face, if not the details; he always remembered the faces. "Yeah, and?"

Zack scruffed his free hand through his already-tousled hair. "Well, I passed it around after the meeting this morning and it turns out one of the guys on Customs saw her come through yesterday, dogging a couple with a few kids -- he figured she was with them. Now, he doesn't know where she went, but she probably hasn't had time to get a ship back off the station."

"Which means she's still here," Garibaldi finished. "Damn kids -- they never learn. Run off and head for the most exotic place they can think of and they always wind up on our doorstep. How many is that this this month?"

"Three," Zack grimaced. "Ten for the year, that we know of. But we got this one early, we should be able to track her down before she gets in too much trouble."

"Yeah, you hope," Garibaldi retorted. "Okay, you know the drill. Circulate the pic, make sure the patrols have it burned into their eyeballs, and tell 'em to ask around. I want to find this kid *before* she hits Medlab. Just for a change."

"I got no problems with that," Zack agreed. "I'll send 'em out. And Chief--" He paused in the door, "--you look like hell. You really oughtta get some sleep, you know?"

Garibaldi looked at him. "Now that is a great idea, Zack, I'm glad you thought of it." Damn, sleep sounded good. His console beeped at him and he groaned under his breath. "Aw, what now? Garibaldi," he identified himself after opening the channel.

"Good morning, Chief." Sheridan. Of course. "Ms. Carter is preparing to leave for her ship, and I'd like an escort for her -- the last thing we need is another incident before she gets off-station."

"I hear that. I'll send--" He looked up at Zack, but his second was already backing out of the office, waving the datapad defensively -- 'see, I've got something to do, I can't be sent on boring old escort duty'. Garibaldi growled at his back, resigned to the inevitable. "That is, *I'll* be right there."

"Thanks, Chief, I *knew* I could count on you." Garibaldi could hear the obnoxiously cheerful grin in the Captain's voice and cut the channel off with a little more force than necessary.

He shook his head in annoyance as he hauled himself out of his nice comfortable chair and put his uniform jacket back on, sealing it up to the neck. Sheridan was one hell of a change from Jeff's laid-back style, but at least the guy had enthusiasm. There were much more annoying traits for a commanding officer.

Funny, though -- he couldn't think of any at the moment.

"Ms. Carter?" he said quietly, making very sure she heard him walking up.

He was successful in that she didn't jump. But her eyes went wide and haunted before she realized who he was. "Chief Garibaldi. Are you my escort?"

"At your service, whenever Dr. Franklin decides you're good to go."

He managed to pull a weak smile out of her, then she stood, visibly pulling herself together. "He's already cleared me, as long as I don't do anything more strenuous than sit on a passenger liner for the next three days. And since that's taken care of... " She shook her head, rubbing her arms with her hands although Medlab wasn't cold. "No offense, but I'd like to get as far away from this station as I can, as soon as I can."

"None taken." Someone, probably on Ivanova's orders, had pulled together a small kit of necessities for Ms. Carter, since not many of her own possessions had survived the blast that had scragged her quarters and almost scragged the Captain. He picked up the kit with one hand and gestured toward the door with the other. "I'll get you to your ship in no time."

She smiled gratefully, with more strength this time, he was happy to see, and followed him out of Medlab. There was a transport tube to the docking bays only a couple hundred meters away, which kept them out of most of Red Sector; Garibaldi could see how nervous the crowds were making Ms. Carter, but she kept her back straight and her chin up. He approved.

Actually, in a lot of ways, she reminded him of Talia -- a class act through and through, but with guts and brains to match the class. Both of them had been through a bad time, but you couldn't tell by looking at them unless you knew exactly what to look for. Class and guts -- Garibaldi had always had a weakness for that particular combination.

"Mr. Garibaldi." Ms. Carter's voice cut into his thoughts and he looked down at her with one lifted eyebrow. "Captain Sheridan tells me you spent a great deal of time on Mars."

He nodded. "Yeah. About ten years, off and on." His voice was flat -- on the list of things he didn't want to talk about, anything to do with Mars Colony was pretty close to number one.

Ms. Carter either didn't hear the hint or was ignoring it. "After ten years, you know the planet, the people. What do you think about Taro Isogi's plans for Mars?"

He sighed mentally, scrolling back through the business proposal he'd plowed through the previous night -- morning -- at about 0200. He thought the same thing now that he had then. "Nice idea, if anyone'll go for it, but I'll believe that when I see it."

She looked at him challengingly. "You don't believe in a nonviolent solution for Mars."

He half-laughed, half-snorted, holding his hands up in front of him as if he could hold off her questions with them. He really didn't want to get into this conversation. "I think it'd be great if everyone decided to play nice, if Earth decided to let the kids off the leash -- I just don't think it's gonna be that simple. EarthGov tends to hang on to what they think is theirs."

Ms. Carter was still studying him, her eyes laser intense and focused. "Don't you think Mars *is* theirs? That the fact that they made it entitles them to hold it forever?"

He had no idea where she was going with this and didn't want to know. He mentally urged the tube to move faster, but wasn't particularly surprised when the car didn't obey. "Look, Ms. Carter, it ain't governments that make places, it's people, and it's people who decide what's gonna happen after they're done making it. And when people don't agree..." He shrugged. "Well, then there's gonna be a fight."

"And which side of that fight would you be on?" she persisted coolly.

He shoved his free hand deeper into his pocket, avoiding her gaze. He'd been doing a really good job of avoiding that question for a lot of years -- damned if he was going to deal with it now. "Mars is a few million light years away -- as near as I can tell, I'm not going to be real worried with sides."

He figured she was going to call him on that evasion, but, thankfully, the tube stopped and the doors opened before she could. They hit Customs just as the first boarding call for her ship, Cierdwyn's Pride, sounded out.

"Here you go," he said with a cheerfulness that was only partly forced, handing her her kit. "Hope you have a safe trip home."

She was still studying him, like a particularly fascinating speciman under a microscope, but finally nodded and took her kit. "The trip home can't possibly be worse than the stay here," she said wryly.

He grinned crookedly in return. "At least there's nowhere to go but up." Her smile grew and she turned to go. He didn't know what made him call after her. "Hey, Ms. Carter."

She turned and looked inquiringly at him, cool and controlled despite the still-livid bruise on her face. "Yes, Mr. Garibaldi?"

He shoved both his hands into his pockets, trying to look like he knew what he'd been about to say. He settled for, "Keep up the good work. Mars is lucky to have you."

She blinked in surprise, then smiled again and handed her ticket over to the purser without another look back. Garibaldi turned on his heel, heading back for Red Sector and a nice, simple mugging or something. Or, if he timed it right, he could be in the neighborhood of Talia's quarters when she woke up and stop in to check on her....

His link beeped and he sighed, letting his head drop forward and resisting the temptation to start banging it against a wall. "Garibaldi, go."

And, of course, the three cases he'd been arresting officer on were scheduled at wildly scattered points in the docket, so he got to cool his heels in the gallery until they were called. He filled the time by snagging security personnel as they came in to testify, collecting reports and sending orders back out. On a usual day, he could manage to catch about 75 percent of his team this way. The running joke at Security Central was that if anyone wanted to commit a crime, they should do it between 1400 and 1600 hours -- everyone would either be going to, testifying at, or coming from the Ombuds sessions.

Finally Garibaldi got through his testimonies -- two guilties, one dismissed for diplomatic purposes (okay, so maybe a Pak'ma'ra new to the station *wouldn't* know a garbage recycler from a buffet) -- and he cleared out with relief. He checked his watch, calculated how long it would take him to get to Talia's quarters, and headed for the tube before anyone could catch up to him with bad news.

It wasn't just that he wanted to move along any progress he'd made with the telepath over the last two days. Sure, his timing hadn't been the best right off, but he *had* made her laugh the night her friend died. And they'd had an actual conversation after that, really talking for once. She was acknowledging his existance as something other than the guy who cleared up the messes and occasionally timed his schedule to meet her in a tube -- he didn't want to let things slide back to 'normal'.

But he was also worried about her for real. Between losing her friend and being assaulted twice and having a PPG held to her head, she'd had a really tough couple of days -- the image of her trapped in Horne's grip, the business end of the PPG pointed at her forehead while her eyes pleaded for help, was one that was going to stay with him a long time. But she hadn't folded, hadn't lost it -- like Amanda Carter, she had the guts to match the class. And right now, she needed someone to look out for her for a while.

He was halfway down the corridor towards Talia's quarters when he spotted someone coming from the other end of the corridor -- and briefly considered doing an about-face and heading in the other direction, because Susan Ivanova did not look happy.

In fact, she was stalking along with her head held in grim resignation, the very picture of someone doing something they don't want to do under extreme protest, but still steadfastly determined to do it right, as duty demanded.

Garibaldi considered his options, then decided that checking on Talia outweighed avoiding whatever had Ivanova in a snit. He could usually handle Ivanova.

"Commander," he greeted her soberly and respectfully as he stopped in front of Talia's quarters -- no use *asking* to get used for target practice.

"Garibaldi," she returned shortly. "What are you doing here?"

Yeah, definitely in a major snit. "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop and check on Ms. Winters. You?"

"I was *not* in the neighborhood," she said through her teeth. "I was, in fact, in C&C dealing with the remains of our docking mess, the T'Kari delegation, and seven other crises of varying proportions, when I was *ordered*, as a representative of the station, to check on Ms. Winters."

Garibaldi whistled silently -- Sheridan sure was going out of his way to annoy people today. "Well, since we're here for the same reason, why don't you let *me* do the station rep thing, and you can head back to C&C."

Ivanova looked severely tempted, then that aura of martyred Russian duty resettled itself over her shoulders. "Thanks, but the Captain ordered me to see to this *personally*." The last word came out between her teeth again, and Garibaldi took a prudent step backwards, just to make sure he was out of blast radius.

"Well, then, I'll guess we can do it together--" he was about to concede, reconciled to not seeing Talia alone, when his link beeped. He swore under his breath, then tapped it. "Garibaldi, go."

"Unauthorized access to Security files detected," the computer informed him in its level electronic tones. "Security flag tripped at 1942 hours."

"Aw, *nuts*." He snapped an "Acknowledged, Garibaldi out," into the link and looked apologetically at Ivanova, hopefully hiding his frustration. "Sorry, Ivanova, looks like you're on your own."

She pulled a face, but looked resigned to her fate. "I can handle it; thanks anyway. Oh, and Garibaldi?"

He stopped, already halfway back to the transport tube, and looked back quizzically. Ivanova was studying him, as if seeing him for the first time since she'd arrived. "Get some sleep, Chief, you look like hell."

"Thanks a lot," he muttered sourly, striding back down the corridor. The computer sneak thief had struck again; he was going to have to move fast to trace the little hacker, and that, unfortunately, was more important than sleep.

Unfortunately, he was too wired on exhaustion and caffiene to actually stop moving, much less sleep, but, a half-hour of soft music and nice, dark room would be enough to bring him down. Hopefully.

Paulie's was about three-quarters full, most of the tables and all of the bar occupied. Paulie was behind the bar as usual and ignored Garibaldi's entrance, also as usual -- one of these days, Garibaldi was going to get proof of what *exactly* Paulie was hiding in that 'back room'. He recognized the blonde waitress, Jamie, shuttling busily between tables and exchanged nods with her, then pulled up a chair and sat with his back to the wall, giving him a good view of both the stage and the rest of the bar. God, he'd forgotten how good it felt to sit down.

Sinjun was on stage in the middle of a set, wearing one of her trademark flowing gowns, a red number that was apparently held up by glue and/or willpower. Under the single bright spotlight, she was torching her way through something bluesy.

"There ain't nothing I can do or nothing I can say
That folks don't criticize me
But I'm going to do just as I want to anyway
And don't care what people say
If I should take a notion to jump into the ocean
Ain't nobody's business if I do..."

He thought, then nodded. "Yeah. That about covers it. How much of the show did I miss?"

Jamie consulted the old-fashioned clock behind the bar. "I think this is the last song before she finishes; her next set doesn't start for another half-hour."

He'd timed it wrong. Figured. "I'll take what I can get. Thanks, Jamie."

"Any time, Chief," she grinned down at him, before heading off to her next table. Garibaldi downed half the water in one gulp, then slouched back in his chair and studied the room with as much energy as he could muster, letting the music wrap around him.

"If I go to church on Sunday then cabaret all day Monday
Ain't nobody's business if I do..."

"If my man ain't got no money and I say, "Take all of mine, honey"
Ain't nobody's business if I do..."

"If I give him my last nickel and it leaves me in a pickle
Ain't nobody's business if I do
Nobody's business if I do..."

Wishing the kid luck -- he was going to need it -- Garibaldi slouched a little further down in his chair and took another sip of water, closing his eyes. He could feel himself starting to unwind, just a little; he might actually sleep sometime this century.

"Finished with the latest?" he asked, forcing his eyes back open as someone approached his table. "You know, Ross, you ought to let one or two guys come through this station without falling for you. Have some mercy on 'em."

Sinjun wrinkled her nose at him, sliding into the chair across the table. "I have no mercy. It's my fault men have no self-control?"

Garibaldi snorted. "Yeah, right." Sinjun's latest admirer had settled forward at the bar and was now trying to talk to Paulie, who was ignoring him. Nice to know Garibaldi wasn't the only one that happened to. "Who's this one -- didn't he try to pick you up last night?"

Sinjun looked at him, then shook her head in either awe or disgust. "You and faces -- that's frightening. He's here to do some trading and yes, he did try it last night -- he's back for another shot." She shrugged lightly, sending a mischievous look back over her shoulder at the guy, who was still persistently trying to talk to Paulie. "I may or may not take pity on him."

She looked back at Garibaldi, studying him. "*You*, on the other hand, definitely need some pity," she observed, narrow-eyed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you about sleep?"

"Nobody tells me about anything else lately, but I'm pretty sure the whole thing is just a nasty rumor." He gave her an assessing look of his own. "Looks like you're not up on that rumor, either -- when was the last time you you slept?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "I sleep. I just... don't always have pleasant dreams."

"You should see mine," Garibaldi groaned. "This place is going to hell."

"This is news? And how *is* Ms. Winters?"

His eyes had been almost closed again, but they snapped back open, staring suspiciously at the redhead. "How'd you hear about that?"

She returned his look evenly, unintimidated. "A) You were standing right next to me when Lou called you two nights ago. B) The entire station has heard about that -- she's pretty distinctive when she's being mugged, much less being mugged for the second time in two days. C) There was an explosion only two decks away, for gods sake!"

"Right, right. I keep forgetting how big this place isn't." He leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his glass so he wouldn't have to bother thinking about them. "And she's fine, I think -- I haven't gotten the chance to see her today."

"Poor baby," Sinjun murmured, with equal parts sympathy and amusement, obviously hearing his frustration. He was too tired to take offense at the amusement, but made a mental note to get revenge for it later. "Well, you can relax for a bit -- I'm on again in a little while, and I'll sing one just for you if you stay."

"Ms. Ross, you're going to have a problem getting me to ever move again," he informed her without looking up.

She laughed and had started to get up when a thought occured to him. He reached out and grabbed her arm -- *so much for not moving*, he thought wryly -- and kept her next to the table. "Hey, Ross, you notice pretty much everything that goes on around here, right?"

She looked down at him warily. "It's more or less in my job description, yes."

"And you know people in DownBelow and Brown sector, some of the entertainment joints, right?"

"Yeesss." Serious suspicion now. "I know the other singers, some of the waitstaff. Why?"

He pulled out the printout of the picture of the runaway and spread it on the table. "Have you run into this kid in the last day or so? She came in on a liner and she's probably going to look for work waitressing or something first, like they usually do. When she can't find it, that's when the trouble's going to start."

Sinjun studied the picture, a line drawn between her hazel eyes as she concentrated. "No," she finally said, "I haven't seen her. One of the others might have, but most runaways are intimidated by Paulie's -- too high-end. She is a runaway, correct?"

"Yeah." Garibaldi sighed, running a hand over his hair. "Got into a fight with her grandmother the Senator and took off, somehow wound up here. Kid's straight out of boarding school, has never been on her own... I have no idea how she managed to make it this far without getting into trouble or getting caught."

"Boarding school kids are more resourceful than you think," Sinjun said absently, still studying the picture.

"Sounds like the voice of experience."

She grimaced. "Oh, yes. Years of it. Still, resourceful or not, if she's new to station, she should stand out pretty clearly. Let me keep this and pass it around -- I'll let you know if I hear anything. "

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"No problem." She smiled at him, but her mind was still obviously on the runaway girl, the frown line still cutting firmly between her eyes. Her free hand came up to toy absently with the chain around her neck. Was she feeling connected to the kid, maybe, one boarding school brat to another? And what had she been doing in boarding school anyway... although it did explain the accent.

Sinjun got up, her sudden movement breaking into his speculation as she looked down at him. "I'll spread the word if you'll do me a favor in return, Chief."

"Name it."

"Get some sleep -- you really do look like hell." On that note, she glided unhurriedly across the room, stopping to drop the poster on Jamie's tray before she went into her socializing mode. Garibaldi took a second to watch her, mildly entertained by how easily she charmed everyone in the place, then he pulled himself to his feet and wandered back out of the bar.

Talia would have to wait until morning; all Garibaldi was interested in now was falling on his face for a good solid eight hours before he had to wake up and start dealing with the badly-leashed chaos that was Babylon 5 all over again.

On cue, someone shouted far down the corridor, and someone else yelled for Security. Garibaldi blew out hard, and let his chin hit his chest for just a second. Then he set his jaw and took off down the corridor at a run, slapping his link as he went.

God, he loved this job.

On to Chapters 6-10

Back to Scenes from a Spaceside Bar

Back to Babylon 5.14159

Based on characters and situations created by J. Michael Strazynski and Babylonian Productions.
Babylon 5 and associated characters and places are used without permission,
for entertainment purposes only. But I'm not putting them back where I got them!