By Perri Smith
Part One -- The Sea of Waking Dreams
March 10, 2259 [The Power of Persuasion]
Mingala Chang wouldn't put it like that, Sinjun knew -- the charismatic young EarthFirster would simply claim to be protecting Earth interests by buying out 'alien' interests in the station. Most of the rest of the station -- Sinjun included -- saw it more as deliberate sabotage of their dreams, not to mention their livelihoods, since no one was under any illusions about how quickly Babylon 5 would become scrap metal if TerraFirma had their way.
Sinjun pulled a small, discreet face. "Please. She's so busy trying to score points with everyone in the room, she hasn't even noticed we're up here. I could strip naked and run through the room screaming 'Die, xenophobic bitch!' and all she'd worry about is whether I own any stock in the station. Or if I'm, god forbid, not Human."
"Yeah, well, I think Captain Sheridan and Commander Ivanova would notice," Tony said dryly, "and I would like to get paid for this gig. So cool it."
Sinjun smiled sweetly and absently at him without removing her eyes from Chang. "I shall be as perfectly behaved as ever. 'Miss Otis Regrets'."
"Oh, yeah. That's well behaved," Tony muttered, but he started the intro anyway. Sinjun moved back to center stage and picked up the song on cue.
Delenn and Sheridan were in an intense conversation on one side of the room, both of them trying to look casual about it. Ivanova had been dragged in to a group of Humans and Centauri and was forcing herself to be social, judging by the tight, pasted-on smile. Londo Mollari held court in another group of Centauri, all of whom appeared to be drinking heavily. Mollari appeared to be enjoying himself, but his eyes roamed the room as often as Sinjun's did, and she had the eerie impression he was judging and weighing everything and everyone in sight.
Even more eerily, as she watched him, she almost thought she saw a faint black shadow around him, although he was standing almost directly under one of the lights. She blinked and shook her head and the shadow was gone, like a hallucination that had run its course.
*Stupid little bigot,* she swore mentally, keep a bright, sultry smile of her own pasted in place. *Drag us out of the station, out of the stars, out of the *future*.... Not while the Anla'shok still live!*
Tony had the grace to only send her a small 'I told you so' look.
She gave him a practiced wide-eyed-and-innocent look. "Cole Porter. A classic." He intensified his Look, looming a bit more, and she blew out her breath in annoyance, dropping the pose. "All right, so my set choice was a bit... questionable. No one was listening anyway."
"*I* was listening," he pointed out.
"Yes, but you're paranoid."
He considered, then smiled. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment," she informed him. "I don't think. Maybe. Oh, go away!"
That did it; not even Garibaldi could remember to be intimidating when he was laughing. "Yeah, well, the next time I send a job your way, do me a favor and turn it down."
"Are you kidding, I need the money. Do you know what Paulie pays?" She was smiling now, too. "And I forgot to thank you for recommending us to Commander Ivanova."
"No problem," he waved her off. "If I'd known you were gonna be so sensitive about Chang, I'd've sent Ivanova to the Dark Star first."
Sinjun resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him on the grounds that it would probably be taken poorly by the non-Human occupants of the room. Her eyes trailed over his shoulder back to Chang and her good humor disappeared. "It's not as if you can blame me," she said. "Don't tell me you like the idea of EarthFirsters shutting us down."
"No, I don't, but it's not gonna happen." She looked at him curiously and he shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "After everything the Minbari went through to get this place built -- all five times --- you think they're just gonna back off now? No way. There's some kinda agenda here, and whatever it is, they're not done yet. Chang doesn't have a prayer of getting their interest in the station. "
Sinjun caught herself looking at him with narrowed eyes as he finished his far-too-accurate summation, and schooled her expression back to enlightened self-interest. "You may be right; that doesn't mean I have to like having that isolationist little... having *her* onstation."
It was his turn to hit her with the narrowed eyes routine. "Taking this a little personally, aren't you?"
She bit back her first response, and her second. "I don't like having my job and my home threatened," she answered carefully. "And I have friends who are Minbari, among other things. It just... makes me mad."
"Yeah, well, I'll lay pretty good odds it's going to make some other people mad, too." He shook his head slowly, looking disgusted. "If we get through this without some excitement, I am gonna die of shock and save someone the trouble of killing me."
Sinjun winced sympathetically, then 'caught sight' of the time on one wall. "Oh, damn, I promised Paulie Tony and I would be back for second set if he let us off the hook for first. Try to pretend you're enjoying yourself, Chief."
"Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes expressively. "I like playing diplomat and listening to Londo expound about the 'good old days of the Centauri empire'." His imitation of Mollari was right on the money and Sinjun choked back a giggle. "I'd rather be in Paulie's. Hell, I'd rather be doing *paperwork*. *Any* kind of real work."
Sinjun's eyes softened, as she figured out what was eating him. "Still no word on that runaway girl."
He shoved his hands a little further into his pockets. "Nothing but thin air."
"You'll find her. I have complete faith in your ability to turn this station upside down."
That won her another crooked smile. "Hey, everybody's gotta be good at something. Go on, get out of here."
"I'm gone." She wandered gracefully towards the door, muttering, "Wouldn't want Ms. Chang to have to party with the peons, would we?"
She didn't *think* Garibaldi heard; at least, she hoped he hadn't. She also hoped he was wrong about the 'excitement'.
Sinjun was beginning to build a real fondness for the concept of 'boredom'.
"...So that's the last of it. Mr. Orwell will have the first shipment of medicines ready in two weeks--"
"For an only moderately exorbitant fee."
"-- Manuel Chang will make his first run to bring the medicine and food --"
"For which we all give thanks for relief from flarn and temshwee eggs."
"-- and there's even odds the Anla'Shok Na is going to take one look at Chang and recruit him."
"'Welcome to Minbar, here's your uniform, here's the oath, oops, here's the Shadows.'"
"Add that to the other five possibles we've picked up, and our graduating class might actually fill part of the courtyard," Joe Ericsson finished telling the two Minbari Rangers, completely ignoring his partner's less-than-useful, if accurate, asides. "And we're a day ahead of schedule. Not too shabby."
"Very well done, in fact," Anric said judiciously. "We have accomplished a great deal, in no small part thanks to your efforts. The Anla'Shok Na shall hear of it."
Joe shrugged off the praise -- he was just doing his job -- but William turned faintly red, or maybe that was the effect of the flickering lights from the stage. The Dark Star was a great place to hold inconspicuous meetings, since all of the occupants were intent on minding their own business -- tonight, in particular, everyone seemed to be avoiding each others' eyes -- but it was not the best place to be if you actually wanted to be able to see your companions.
"It is a shame our ship will not arrive for two more days," Anric continued, when Dorann, no surprise, looked less than inclined to add any praise to his. "I'm sure you regret the delay in your training. Still, I am certain the two of you will be able to occupy yourselves."
Joe very carefully did not look at William. Joe himself was more than willing to head back to Minbar and return to his training -- the single week of Ranger training he'd already been through had whetted his appetite for more. And he had some Shadows to pay back....
William, though.... Joe studied the young man he'd already come to think of as a younger brother. The kid's deep interest in the training was still there, but no one on station could have missed his equally deep interest in one Sinjun Ross.
William hadn't shirked any of the work they'd been sent to Babylon 5 to do, but every minute he could spare was spent in Paulie's trying to charm a determinedly uncharmed Anla'shok Ross. That is, when the kid wasn't roaming around DownBelow looking for a runaway kid because Ross had asked them to keep an eye out for her.
It wasn't that he didn't almost like Ross, Joe admitted to himself; he was just worried about William's ability to deal with the amount of baggage the woman was carrying around. William, for all his enthusiasm and fierce dedication to the Rangers, was still just a kid...
But trying to warn Will for his own good was like trying to tell the station not to spin. Both listened calmly and politely to what you had to say, then went right on doing what they'd been doing all along.
"....leave at 2000 hours, as you Humans say," Dorann was telling them, and Joe realized he'd missed a chunk of conversation. "We should board the ship discretely, but there should be no danger."
"We'll be there," William promised, shoving his chair back from the table. "Until then, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walkabout for a bit. Anla'shok Dorann, Anla'shok Anric. Joe." He made the respectful Minbari bow to all of them, then headed for the door before anyone so inclined could stop him.
Joe watched him go with a sigh, then downed his drink. "Since I'm not cursed with William's energy, I am going to go to my quarters and collapse. Good night." He imitated William's bows, then followed him out the door, but deliberately turned in the opposite direction.
He wasn't William's father; the kid would have to take care of himself.
He'd wander around for an hour, he planned, scanning the faces around him out of habit. Explore Decks 23 and 24 of Brown Sector, while keeping an eye out for Damita Winchester, the runaway teenager Sin had asked him to watch for. Then, if he didn't have any luck, he'd head for Red Sector, catch Sinjun's second set, and try and talk her into sitting with him for a while. She'd been giving in for longer lately; he might even be able to get a smile out of her. A real one, not the social smiles she spread around like candy, the ones that never reached the back of her eyes.
He didn't know why it had become so important to him to coax those smiles out. He only knew that behind those masks of hers, Sinjun was hiding a lot of pain. And he had never been able to see anything in pain without trying to fix it.
But Damita Winchester first, he told himself. The poor kid was only fifteen, and probably scared out of her mind. Even if she had somehow managed to survive this long -- and she *had* to still be alive, he thought grimly, seeing the smiling Security picture again -- she was going to need help, and he was going to give it if he could.
He was so intent on his goal, it took him longer than it should have to realize that the atmosphere in the corridors was different. This close to Red Sector, there should have been vendors of all races littering the halls, along with buyers, and passersby trying not to *become* buyers.
Instead, most of the pushcarts were shut down; the owners of the rest were standing warily beside them, silent and grim -- not exactly a good sales technique. And the passersby were avoiding the vendors with even more determination than usual -- in fact, no one was looking at anyone.
William slowed down, every instinct in his body going on instant red alert. A few feet away, two people, a Human and a Drazi, bumped into each other. But what should have been, at the worst, cause for a few muttered insults, jumped instantly into a shouting match. Almost faster than William could follow it, the first blows were exchanged. Like flashfire, the anger rushed outwards, becoming a fight, then a brawl and running headlong towards a riot.
After a few seconds spent blinking in shock, then another few, hopeless moments trying to referee, William gave in to the inevitable and started down the corridor at a run, looking for a uniform, any uniform -- Security, EarthForce... a few Rangers would be nice. But the brawl seemed to keep pace with him, until he realized they were separate versions of the fight he had witnessed, converging inexorably from all over the sector into each other.
*Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!* He couldn't spare the breath to curse out loud; he was too busy trying to find a route, any route, out of ground zero. He searched the walls, still looking for a uniform, but almost as desperately seeking a transport tube. Someone slammed into him from behind, and he turned just in time to duck a punch. He hadn't been in a fight since his school days, but the old instincts kicked in, and he decked the alien who'd assaulted him without even being able to identify the others' race. Pain flared through his abused knuckles -- whatever the race, that thing had a *hard* jaw -- but the alien went down.
Someone screamed a few feet away, so high and shrill with terror it even pierced through the chaos around them. Automatically, William ducked through the crowd, dodging fist, feet and the occasional flying object, until he spotted the girl who had screamed. Two Human stood over her, their faces contorted with anger. The girl's face was bloody, but she crouched protectively over the unconscious body of... a Minbari.
William lunged forward without a second thought, tackling one of the Humans. They fell to the deck in a heap; William fought his way on top and slammed his fist into the other man's jaw. It didn't work as well this time -- the man growled at him and lunged upwards, almost throwing William off at the same time that he slammed his fists into William's ribs. His breath knocked out, William groped around the deck in desperation and his fingers found something hard. He hefted it and slammed it into his opponent's jaw.
This time, he went down.
William jumped to his feet, spinning around in search of his other opponent, only then registering that the girl's screams hadn't stopped, they'd just changed pitch. She was hurling something at the Human, shrieking in rage, pulling ammunition off of the pushcart behind her. Small, heavy figurines, William realized; awkward but effective. The other Human snarled and tried to go after the girl, but finally retreated, cursing, under her barrage, and was absorbed back into the brawl.
The girl stood still, panting, her hands fisted and her eyes wild; William gently pushed her back against the wall, further from the fight, before he knelt next to the injured Minbari. The woman was already pushing herself upright, one hand held to her bleeding forehead.
//Are you all right?// William asked in religious caste dialect, taking a guess from the woman's robes. //Can I help you?//
She shook her head slowly, without looking up, and answered in the same language, //You have already helped. I will be all right.//
//You already had all the help you needed,// William said, helping the Minbari woman to her feet. //With this young lady, you didn't need an army.//
The woman winced as she made it to her feet, but stood, swaying only slightly, her eyes still not quite focusing. //I owe her a great debt. I had become frightened and was attempting to leave, when the fighting began. The Humans... accosted me, told me too... go home and leave this place for the Humans. When I attempted to go past them, they... assaulted me. The girl defended me... against her own kind.//
//Not her own kind,// William said firmly. //Any more than they were mine.//
She blinked and looked at him as if for the first time. //You're... Human? I saw your uniform, Anla'shok, and thought....// She stopped and steadied herself. When she spoke again, it was in clear, unaccented Interlac. "I thank you for your assistance, and yours," she turned carefully to tell the girl. "I am very grateful."
"You're... you're welcome," the girl stuttered, her face still pale, all of her ferocity drained into frightened shock.
An sudden, ear-splitting sound cut off the ludicrously formal conversation, and most of the fight, as everyone looked up to find the cause of the painful squeal. William squinted and recognized Chief Garibaldi, standing next to a vaguely-familiar dark-haired woman. He didn't realize who she was until, with one voice, the Humans in the crowd began cheering.
Mingala Chang.
She leaned over the railing of the narrow catwalk, shouting something to the crowd, but William had no interest in listening to her. "Come on, let's get away from here before she stirs them up again."
"Good plan," the girl agreed fervently. With William on one side of the injured Minbari and the girl on the other, they made their way out of the corridor and into a transport tube. Someone slammed into the doors just as they closed, curses and shouts following them into the tube as the riot kicked back into gear.
William leaned back against the wall of the tube and idly watched his hands shake. That had been just too damned close. The girl had sunk to the deck, her face buried in her knees. The Minbari woman -- he still didn't know her name, he realized -- leaned against another wall, apparently staying on her feet through sheer force of dignity, holding one hand to her head. The blood looked obscene against her pale skin, and William fought down a surge of hatred towards the bigots who'd attacked her.
"Red 14," he remembered at last to order the tube, and it obediently started moving. "We'll take you to Medlab 3, Ms....?"
"I am Tashal," the woman said serenely, but without opening her eyes. "And Medlab would be most acceptable."
"William Cole," William introduced himself, before kneeling stiffly next to the girl. "Are you all right?" he asked her gently. "Do you need to go to Medlab?"
She shook her head without lifting it from her knees. "I can't go to Medlab."
"Why... oh." No money. William nodded, mentally counting his credits, which were pretty low after a week onstation. Still, he should be able to cover a checkout... "I'll take care of the cost, don't worry about it."
"It will be *my* honor, Anla'shok," Tashal said. William started to protest, but she opened her eyes enough to give him a knowing look that seemed to take in every credit in his pocket. "It is the least I can do."
"I can't go to Medlab," the girl repeated, lifting her face. This close, her hair slicked out of her face by sweat and not a few tears, and her eyes scared, but determined, William suddenly realized who he had rescued.
He shook his head and thought about cursing fate, but started laughing instead, the force of his chuckles hurting his sore ribs. Come to think of it, a doctor wouldn't be a bad idea for him, either. He couldn't *wait* hear what Sinjun and Joe would have to say about this.
"You *are* going to Medlab," he said through his laughter, as Tashal and the girl looked at him with polite concern and wide-eyed wariness respectively. "You owe me that much, since I saved your skin. After that, we'll negotiate... Miss Winchester."
March 12, 2259 [The Power of Persuasion]
The mood in Paulie's, Sinjun had observed during her weeks on station, tended to reflect the mood in the corridors outside the club. On a good day, there would be smiles and she'd choose the upbeat songs, the ones that would add to those smiles. On bad days, it was sober and reflective, and she gave up Billy Joel for Billie Holliday.
But she had never seen a night like this, where there were no smiles or frowns, just tension, glaring from every patron. Every *Human* patron, that is -- the alien contingent of regulars was conspicuously absent. As was damn near every security uniform that could usually be found holding up the bar. No Zack, no Coreen -- not even Jamie's new boyfriend Cal Martinez had shown his face. And no one was meeting anyone's eyes.
It didn't take a genius to guess why, only someone with reasonably open eyes and ears. Mingala Chang's presence on station was giving some transients, and more than a few residents, new ideas about their place in the station. Uniformly *bad* ideas.
"If it gets any more tense in here," Tony muttered, only a few songs into first set, "the wires in the piano are going to snap."
Sinjun forced a smile back at him; it almost hurt her face. "Tell me about it. Look, let's take five so I can mingle. Warren's been over at the bar for almost an hour -- I think I'll go have a little talk with him. I can't believe it's gotten this bad this fast."
"*I* believe it," Tony said grimly, but got up from the piano and headed off the stage with one hand hovering protectively at Sinjun's elbow. The hand got a little firmer when she tried to make her first detour to charm a table of customers; she threw Tony a sideways glance, but allowed herself to be escorted directly to the bar.
"Hey, Sin. Tony." Lt. Warren Keffer stood up as they got closer and Sinjun had the definite impression of being handed over before Tony left. Cute. Obnoxiously *male*, but cute.
"Nice set," Warren said with a forced smile; Sinjun noticed that his eyes never strayed too far from the door. What looked like the rest of Zeta Squadron was spaced out around the main room, a disproportionate number of them next to the front door.
"Thank you, considering we only did four songs," Sinjun returned evenly. "Is there some reason the station has turned into an armed camp inside of the last 24 hours?"
Warren blinked, then casually picked up his drink. "Aw, I've seen it worse around here -- it'll blow over."
Sinjun studied him as Paulie slid a glass of water in front of her -- no ice, the cold would stiffen her vocal cords. "You didn't answer the question," she said evenly, after pausing just long enough to make Warren squirm. "Did Garibaldi send you to keep an eye on the place, or was it Zack?"
Warren was not dumb; he knew when to drop the act. "Chief Garibaldi's got all of his people pulling shift today and tonight, just in case; he mentioned it to Commander Ivanova and she 'mentioned' it to us."
Translation: Ivanova had unofficially put the fighter pilots, and probably most of C&C, on alert through the station to help out Garibaldi's Best, Sinjun concluded. The chief was either going to appreciate that or raise hell. Probably appreciate it, knowing him.
"How bad is it out there?" she asked quietly, aware of the possibly-hostile audience all around them. "What are Ivanova and Garibaldi expecting?"
Warren shrugged, his face serious. "I'm not sure what they're looking for, but it's bad enough that every uniform on Bab5 is out tonight, just to remind everyone who's in charge. This Chang lady is sure raising some hell."
"Like the damn EarthFirsters and Homeguard need an excuse," Sinjun said sourly. "Do you know...."
Before she could finish the question, there was a sudden burst of sound and noise outside the door. Three pilots were on their feet in a second as people flooded the corridor outside, moving very quickly in the general direction of 'away'.
"What the hell?" Sinjun's startled words came a beat before Paulie snapped, "Close it and lock it!" Alain, the maitre'd, blinked at Paulie for a second, then jumped forward, slamming his hand down on the door controls. The doors rolled closed and the lock engaged, just as the flood became something close to a stampede. Alain touched another control and the tinted windows started to dim even further, then turned opaque.
"Paulie!" Sinjun yelped in protest as the view to the outside was cut off.
"Stifle it!" Paulie snarled around his cigar, before turning to the room at large. "Sorry about the disturbance, everyone. Just sit back and relax until it blows over. This round's on the house." He gave Sinjun a glare that very clearly ordered her back to the stage; she glared back in equally clear refusal.
She wasn't the only one; not a few customers looked as if they'd rather get the hell out of the bar; entirely too many of those looked as if they'd rather be participating in the disturbance -- Sinjun shied away from the word 'riot' -- instead of hiding from it. But Zeta Squadron had formed a solid wall of fighter jock muscle in front of the door and, one by one, the patrons returned to their seats, some muttering under their breaths, but no one looking inclined to push it.
Warren nodded approvingly at his squadronmates, but Sinjun spared them only a glance. "Paulie!" she hissed, leaning forward over the bar. "Dammit, we have to know what's going on out there!"
"No, *we* don't," he returned flatly. "*You're* the busybody of the universe; me, I'm just interested in keeping my bar and my customers in one piece." Their staredown lasted a solid minute, neither of them willing to back down; finally, Paulie muttered something obscene around his cigar, and flipped the towel he'd been using to polish glasses over his shoulder. "All right, all right," he gave in with absolutely no grace. "Get your butt behind the bar."
Sinjun slipped off her stool and moved around the bar; Warren hesitated only a second before following her. Under normal circumstances, trespassers into 'Paulie's Territory' were summarily and violently dismissed. This time, Paulie just gave him a hard glare then, still grumbling, shoved a few bottles aside to reveal a small screen. "You're not seeing this, Keffer."
Warren nodded, his face completely blank. "I'm having a real hard time with my eyes tonight."
Paulie grunted, then hit some control, and the screen flickered to life with a view of the corridor outside -- the view from one of the station security cameras, to which civilians were not supposed to have access. Warren choked slightly, but Sinjun just leaned forward intently, studying the flow of people, Human and alien, past the bar.
"Looks like they're all coming from Brown Sector," she mused out loud, "now there's a surprise. I don't see any... Wait, there's Security." Two uniforms had shoved their way into he mass and were trying to control the flow. Sturdy and intimidating Coreen Dickerson had much more effect on the crowd than her shorter rookie partner, Anita something-or-other, but they seemed to be getting it somewhat under control. At least no one appeared to be in imminent danger of getting trampled.
Except... "Dammit!" Sinjun swore. A Minbari, a Vindrizi and two Drazi had gotten pinned in a corner; a few members of the crowd had noticed them, and were advancing. There was no sound off the camera feed, but it wasn't necessary to hear the Humans' words to know there was blood in them. The Drazi were braced, ready for a fight, and probably looking forward to it, knowing Drazi.
"Coreen, watch it!" Sinjun hissed desperately, almost ready to head for the door and the hell with Paulie *and* her cover.
Behind her, one of the patrons at the bar, dressed in the conservative suit of a businessman or lawyer, chuckled. "Looks like those aliens are finally going to get what they've got coming to them."
Sinjun spun to cut the idiot down, but Paulie, of all people, beat her to it. "If you want to drink here again," he said, low and deadly, the cigar in his mouth barely moving, "stop insulting my customers. They got a right to drink here, and do whatever else they want here, same as you. Got it?"
Under the frost of Paulie's stare, the loudmouth backed down. Sinjun fought back a smile and returned her eyes to the screen, to find that Coreen's rookie partner -- Gless, that was it, Anita Gless -- had seen the situation and was already wading in armed with shock stick and attitude. One or the other did the job, and the budding brawl broke up and went in opposite directions.
"All right!" Warren cheered quietly. "Let's hear it for the long arm of station security."
"Amen," Sinjun agreed. Tony had appeared next to her, along with Jamie and Kami -- she spared a split second to wonder who was working the tables, then dismissed the thought in favor of focusing on the three staggering figures emerging from the crowd. "Oh, devil take it!"
"Hey, Sin, isn't that...?" Jamie asked.
Sinjun was already racing around the bar towards the door. "Yes, it bloody well is!" she called back. "Allie, open the damned door! We've got friendlies out there!"
Alain looked towards Paulie; resigned to the situation, if still less than thrilled, Paulie nodded back the okay and Alain opened the door. Sinjun stuck her head out and shouted, "William! Come on!"
William Cole's head came up as he heard her; he shouted something unintelligible over the crowd and he and his companions -- a Minbari woman and a human girl -- made their way toward them. Two members of Zeta Squadron -- Jones and Kazin, she thought -- figured out what was going on, and muscled a path clear for the trio. They staggered in and Alain rushed to close the door behind the lot of them.
The sudden return of silence was almost deafening. William staggered and came up against Warren, who helped him a chair while Sinjun supported the Minbari woman. The girl collapsed in a corner away from the crowd; Sinjun spared her only a second's attention after she realized the other two were bleeding. "Warren, first aid kit, behind the bar!" she snapped, Ranger training suddenly taking over. "Jamie, water!"
"Make that whiskey!" William amended, and Sinjun gave him a Look. "Hey, I earned it," he defended himself, without losing the lunatic grin he'd worn since she'd spotted him on the monitor. "It's a jungle out there."
"Well, at least there's nothing wrong with your mouth," Sinjun grumbled as Jamie and Warren both started moving. "Who are your friends?"
"Casualties of war," he shrugged, then winced. Sinjun recognized sore ribs from his posture, and didn't like the looks of the bruises coming up around his eyes, but had to let them go in favor of inspecting the Minbari's forehead, which was bleeding fairly heavily. Someone reached past her to press a wad of bandaging to the cut, and Sinjun looked up to find Warren leaning over her.
She flashed him a smile. "Way to go, Keffer; we'll make you a useful member of society yet."
"I'm useful," he shot back, without diverting his concentration even a bit. "You just never let me show off my talents outside the cockpit."
"You're right," Sinjun agreed cheerfully, moving to inspect William's ribs. He flinched once, but then held still. "And how *is* your girlfriend Earthside?"
"Earthside," Warren answered easily, flashing a charming grin at the Minbari and cheerfully complaining, "She never lets up."
The Minbari actually cracked a small smile before closing her eyes and leaning her head back tiredly. Sinjun rolled her eyes and laid an icepack, courtesy of Tony, on William's soon-to-be-stunning black eye. It was looking like another fun night in Paulie's Spaceside Bar and Infirmary.
Damita Winchester watched from her corner as the short redhead and the cute guy in the flight uniform -- a Starfury pilot! -- fussed over her rescuer and the Minbari lady, Tashal. Almost every eye in the bar was also on them, which was not exactly comforting; most of the eyes were curious but some of them, especially the ones directed at Tashal, were downright mean. Chess slouched lower in her chair and tried her best to hide.
*Only you could run away from home and wind up in the middle of a riot millions of lightyears away. So much for proving how grown-up you are, Chess. The only thing you've got going for you is that you're the only one not bleeding.*
At least the redhead looked like she knew what she was doing. Their route to Medlab had been cut off by the flow of the fight, but William had said that Paulie's would be safe. Which wasn't the word Chess would have used for the most exclusive club onstation -- under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have stuck her nose past the door, and would have gotten kicked right back out if she'd tried. But these weren't normal circumstances.
Nothing about Babylon 5 was normal. Her father's letters had been full of adventure and excitement. They hadn't said anything about Narns that were twice as big as Chess, about freezing under a ragged blanket in the corridors of DownBelow, or riots in the middle of the market, all the things she'd been learning about first-hand this last week. But he hadn't said anything about getting killed fighting raiders, either...
She shied away from that thought before it could start hurting again, as the redhead finished doing something to William's face. William grinned up at her, then gestured in Chess's direction; Chess immediately folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them, hoping everyone would take the hint.
She didn't want to talk, or explain, or dodge questions; she didn't want to do anything except be warm and safe and not have to constantly watch her back. There were other kids in DownBelow, and all of them had horror stories to tell about what could happen if you let down your guard -- Chess hadn't sleep for more than a few hours straight in the more than a week since she'd snuck onstation. But it was safe here, and warm; she might actually fall asleep at the table if they left her alone long enough....
Nope. Someone settled into the chair right next to her, and waited patiently. Chess tried to outstubborn her, but finally gave in and turned her head, opening one eye. "What do you want?" she asked shortly.
Her tone apparently rolled right off the redhead. "Hello, Miss Winchester, I'm Sinjun Ross," she said evenly, in some kind of clipped, snobby-sounding British accent.
"Sinjun? What kind of a name is that?" Her grandmother would have had a fit at the rudeness, but if she was rude enough, maybe Ross would just give up and go away. Like everyone else.
No such luck. "It's a name that is much too old." Ross leaned her elbows on the table and steepled her fingertips. "You know, half this station's been looking for you, Miss Winchester. You're very good at hiding."
"Looks like I'm not good enough."
Ross snorted, then grinned unexpectedly, as if inviting Chess to share the joke. "If he'd known a riot was the way to dig you out, I'm sure Chief Garibaldi would have tried it days ago."
Chess's head snapped up at the name. Her mouth went dry and she had to swallow hard. "G-Garibaldi?" she stuttered. "The Chief was looking for me?" Oh God. Chief Garibaldi, who had most of the bad guys in DownBelow quivering in terror. All of the kids ran when they saw him, to make sure they didn't get noticed. Garibaldi was The Man to Avoid, big time and he'd been looking for her. No, no, no....
Ross raised an eyebrow at her expression. "Is that terror I see? Good lord. I've really got to talk to Garibaldi about his reputation -- I know he likes the tough-guy routine, but this is a bit much."
"You know Garibaldi." Chess groaned and let her head drop back down to the table with a dull thunk. That was it. She was burned. "Great. He's gonna space me."
"Not likely -- there'll be a lot of people in line ahead of you for spacing after this fiasco." Ross gestured in the direction of the rest of the station. The sounds of the riot had already started trailing off, but it wasn't over yet. "No, I imagine he's going to give you quite a stern lecture, then send you back home."
Chess thought it over. "I'd probably be better off being spaced."
Most adults would have laughed or blown her off; Ross leaned forward. "Is that true, or is it adolescent exaggeration?" Chess blinked at her, confused and Ross clarified. "Is home so much worse than Babylon 5 that you'd rather be Down Below?"
*Yes,* Chess started to answer automatically, but something about the redhead's posture stopped her. Ross was going to take her answer *very* seriously, she realized. And the truth was, she'd already been starting to consider ways to get out of this whole mess, up to and including turning herself over to Security, or even Garibaldi. Anything to get a shower, and food, and a bed... God, this had been *such* a bad idea from the start.
"No, it's not," she finally answered, honestly if reluctantly. "I started missing my room about ten minutes after I got onstation. And my grandmother... But don't tell her I said that," she tacked on hastily.
Ross studied her, then nodded slightly and leaned back, crossing her arms over her impressive, evening-gown-clad chest. Chess mentally compared Ross's attributes to her own still-awaiting-further-developments status and descended a little deeper into pouting. Bad enough she had to get rescued like a kid, but to get taken for more help to a darn sex symbol...
"Then, if you don't mind my asking," Ross was asking coolly, "why the hell did you run away to the back of beyond? What did you think you were going to accomplish?"
"It seemed like a real good idea at the time," Chess said sulkily. Okay, it was dumb, no need to rub it in. She'd just wanted to prove... something. "Look, um, William, is he gonna be okay? And, um, Tashal?"
Sinjun's eyes narrowed, but she went with the change of topic, to Chess' fervent relief. No one liked admitting they'd been a complete vac. "They should be fine. I want Stephen -- that's Dr. Franklin, the head of Medlab -- to check that head wound and William's ribs, but they should be fine. He'll need to check you out, as well -- god knows what you managed to pick up in DownBelow."
"I was careful!" Chess defended herself. "I only drank the good water from the pipes out of reclamation, not the stuff going in. And I didn't *touch* any food unless I saw where it came from. I'm not stupid!"
"No, you're not," Ross agreed, taking a lot of the wind out of Chess's sails. She reverted to pouting for lack of any better ideas. "Which brings us back to how an intelligent young Earther lady like you wound up in the middle of a riot on Babylon 5."
"God, you're persistant," Chess muttered, sinking even lower in her chair and refusing to look at anyone or anything.
"So I've been told. And you still haven't answered."
"I don't have to answer anything to you."
Ross considered that. "True enough; you don't owe me anything. But I have something you're going to want a great deal, and I'm going to be far less inclined to share it with you if I get what I want."
Chess stared at her suspiciously, without lifting her chin from her chest. "What do you have that I want?"
Ross smirked. "I know how to run interference with Chief Garibaldi for you. Or I can just call Security as soon as things lighten up outside and set you out on your own. Your choice."
Chess was bolt upright in her chair before Ross finished, her jaw hanging open. "That's blackmail!"
Ross nodded, without losing her smirk. "Bribery, in fact, if you want to get technical. Very useful thing, bribery. So, we'll try one more time. Why did you run away, and why run to Babylon 5?"
Chess knew she'd lost. If it came down to facing the legendary Chief Garibaldi, he who even the *really* bad guys talked about in whispers, she was sure as hell not going to do it alone. But that didn't mean she had to lose gracefully. "Look, it's no big deal," she said, slouching down in her chair again. "I got into a fight with my grandmother and I wanted to show her I could take care of myself. So I left."
"A fight about what?"
Chess rolled her eyes. "She wanted me to go back to boarding school, all right? And I didn't want to go -- I wanted to stay home."
A veteran of more late-night dorm poker games than she was going to admit to in the presence of anything resembling an adult, Chess could read anyone's poker face. Ross's was pretty good, but something had almost gotten through, that time. When she spoke again, though, she was still under careful control. "You wanted to stay home. I see. So when that was denied, you ran for a space station on the edge of nowhere, about as far away from home as you could get."
Okay, so it hadn't been the smartest move. So? She gave Ross her best 'problem child' glare, the one guaranteed to send headmistresses racing for the demerit slips. "Yeah, and?"
Ross just smirked again. "Nothing. Nothing at all. You still haven't explained why B5 'sounded like a good idea'."
Chess shrugged and looked back down at the table, suddenly becoming absorbed in studying the fabric of the expensive wine-colored tablecloth. "My dad was stationed here," she finally mumbled. "He used to send messages to me at school, telling me about the station. If I had to go someplace, I figured here was as good as anyplace else."
Ros was quiet for a long time. "Your father's dead, then?" she finally asked. No euphemisms, no weaseling, no patronizing like Chess couldn't handle it. Just 'dead'.
"Yeah. He got killed chasing some raiders -- Captain Sinclair's message said he saved the crew of a freighter." She stared harder at the tabletop, forcing back the tears burning at her eyes, fiercely determined not to cry in front of all of these strangers. No matter how much it still hurt. "Lieutenant Senior Grade Darren Winchester. Zeta Squadron."
"No way!" the exclamation came from someone new, and Chess looked up to discover that her private conversation with Ross had been anything but -- not only William and Tashal, but the pilot and the blonde waitress had been listening in. It was the pilot who had spoken -- oh man, this guy was *critical* cuteness.
"You're Dare Winchester's kid?" the pilot asked. Chess nodded, wide-eyed, and the pilot leaned over to shake her shoulder, like her father used to do to his wingmates. "I knew your dad, kid -- he was second in command of my Squad when I transferred here. Man, you oughtta meet Commander Ivanova -- he saved her butt the day he..."
The pilot's voice trailed off, and Chess tried to smile. She couldn't look like a wuss in front of this guy, not a guy in Zeta Squadron. "It's okay, you can say it. The day he died."
Her reward was a look of actual respect. "Yeah. The day he died. That was a helluva fight, kid, and your old man was one hell of a fighter. Lt. Warren Keffer," he introduced himself suddenly. "I command Zeta Squadron these days. Man, kid, I wish we had a few more like your dad."
Chess took the offered hand automatically, too far in shock to do anything else. Zeta's CO, leader of the Air Cavalry. Shaking *her* hand. Wow. "Chess. My dad called me Chess."
"If everyone over here is finished with the reunions," a sardonic voice said from across the room, "do you think we could, oh, I don't know, start waiting tables and singing? You know, doing our jobs?"
Both Ross and the waitress made identical faces at the big bald guy behind the bar, but Ross lifted herself out of her chair. "Fine, fine," she sighed heavily. "God forbid riots and runaways should be alllowed to infringe on the profit margin. Allie, you can probably open the doors now, it seems to have died down."
And it had. The sounds outside had faded to the usual commotion of a busy spacestation. The maitre'd type opened the doors, and most of the room seemed to surge out through them. Chess had the sudden urge to lunge out with them, to bury herself back in DownBelow and keep reality away for another day. DownBelow was rank, but at least she could put off facing Chief Garibaldi. Facing the disappointment on her grandmother's face at the results of another Unfortunate Chess Incident....
But the pilot -- Lt. Keffer -- was still sitting there, looking at her like he was expecting her to run for it, and expecting her not to at the same time, and she just couldn't do it. Not in front of a guy who'd served with her dad. No, she was stuck real good -- time to face the music.
She put her elbows on the table and dropped her head into them. "Oh, god, I really screwed up."
"Well... it looks like that," Lt. Keffer agreed after a second. "But the riot's over, you're in one piece, and you're gonna get a free ticket home. No problems. Bet your grandmother's going to be real happy to see you."
Chess sighed into her arms. "Yeah, so she can yell at me, then ship me back to school And I*still* don't want to go."
"So don't."
She opened one eye just enough to look at him. "I tried that. I wound up here. Remember?"
"Ever heard of middle ground?" Lt. Keffer asked wryly. "Don't get mad, get logical and talk her into it. I saw your dad talk two drunk Narn pilots into *not* blowing up a Centauri ship once -- I bet his kid can do the same."
"I guess." But she didn't hold out much hope. Nobody talked Senator Charlene Winchester into anything. Ever. Tears threatened suddenly and she had to sniff them back again.
"Aw, it's okay," Lt. Keffer said, leaning over to pat her shoulder. She had to resist the urge to throw her arms around him and hide, and held out only because it would make her look like a baby. "Hey, look, if we get time before you go, I'll take you through a Cobra Bay."
That was enough to bring Chess bolt upright, a thrill racing through her. "Really? You're allowed?"
He grinned cockily. "Hey, I'm in charge."
"I'll make sure to tell Ivanova that," one of the other pilots cracked, pulling a chair up backwards and straddling it.
"She'll be real impressed," a third one said with a wide grin, settling herself on Chess's other side, in the seat Ross had vacated. Chess suddenly realized there were a *lot* of flight uniforms hanging around.
"Yeah, yeah." Lt. Keffer waved them all off. He leaned back in his chair and winked at Chess. "They're all just jealous 'cause my insignia's shiner than theirs."
*Critical* cute, oh yeah. Wow. Chess remembered to breathe, caught William looking at her with an amused grin, and felt herself blush. Surrounded by pilots who were so much like her dad, with William and Tashal right across the table lending an odd kind of security, DownBelow suddenly seemed very far away. And she wasn't exactly going to miss it. Home....
"Seeing the Cobra bays would be cool," she told Lt. Keffer, trying not to stammer. "But I have to...." She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Starfury pilots weren't afraid of anything. "I have to go see Chief Garibaldi first."
William nodded approvingly and so did Tashal. She fought back another blush and looked back up at Lt. Keffer. "But after that... I'd like a tour. It would make me... feel like I was with my dad again."
She'd half expected them to laugh, but instead, every pilot nodded soberly. Lt. Keffer reached out to her shoulder again, but only laid his hand on it this time. "I think he'd be pretty proud of you, kid."
"Hey, *we* could take her to Garibaldi," the other male pilot perked up before Chess's red face could actually catch on fire. "I mean, she's one of us, right?
"Amazingly enough, he's right," the female pilot, whose uniform read 'Kazin', agreed. "We can't let one of our own take on the chief by herself."
Lt. Keffer grinned. "How about it, kid, want a fighter escort to face the Big Bad Chief of Security?"
"No, she doesn't. "Ross had reappeared at her elbow. "But you can be manly men," she gave a significant look to the female pilot, who snorted, "and protect her until Zack shows up in a few minutes. That's Sgt. Allan, Garibaldi's second," she told Chess.
Chess flinched back, all of her bravado fading away. Ross just laughed. "It's all right, Chess, Zack's a sweetheart -- but don't tell him I told you that, he thinks it's bad for his reputation. You'll be fine. William, Tashal, Medlab awaits."
With that very obvious order-disguised-as-a-hint, Ross headed for the small stage at the front of the room, accepting the wolf whistles and cat calls from the pilots as her due. Style, Chess thought with envy, the woman had style.
William gave Ross's back a kind of odd, wry salute and helped Tashal to her feet. "Stay out of trouble, kidling," he told Chess, leaning over to kiss her cheek; she was startled enough that she forgot to duck. "I don't want to have to come rescue you again."
Chess grinned and blushed at him as Tashal made a half-bow at her, the kind the Minbari liked, and said calmly, "For my own rescue, I owe you a debt. If I can ever repay it, ask for Tashal of the Second Fane of Ra'lano."
"N-no problem," Chess stammered. "Good luck."
They left as the blonde waitress delivered a round of drinks for the table, including a soda for Chess -- "Compliments of Zeta Squadron," Lt. Keffer said with a smile. With small sigh, Chess sat back in her seat and pushed everything else away, as Ross started singing some kind of old, slow stuff that sounded okay.
If she only had a few more hours on Babylon 5, she was going to enjoy them. Along with that tour of the Cobra bays....
If only her dad could have seen this.
April 14, 2259 [To Dream in the City of Sorrows; Soul Mates]
"Oh, you *must* be joking!"
Sinjun stared in open-mouthed shock at the image of the Anla'shok Na as his recorded voice continued speaking, oblivious to her reaction. "... I think it's important that as many Rangers as possible be here on Minbar for the first formal initiation of the Human Rangers. In particular, I think it's important for *you* to be here."
"No, it's more important for me to be *here*," Sinjun informed the recorded message, crossing her arms and glaring at the StellarCom screen as if the force of her displeasure could pass through the wires and land in Jeffrey Sinclair's office.
The Narn and the Centauri were still in the early stages of warfare -- neither admitting what they were doing, but weapons and credits flying back and forth between the two homeworlds and every supplier in ten quadrants. There was no sign of the Shadows getting involved, on either side, but a cold fist in Sinjun's gut said that wouldn't last. This situation was too perfect for them not to be involved. Add that to the damage the Narn and Centauri were more than capable of wreaking on themselves, toss in the new outbreaks of violence on Mars and in the Shellasian system, and the aftermath from Mingala Chang's disastrous visit, and life was looking quite interesting.
*Much* too interesting for her to leave Babylon 5 for the three-day trip to Minbar just to see a bunch of strangers inducted into the Rangers.
".. I know things are tense on station still," Sinclair continued speaking, since Sinjun's glare wasn't quite enough to disrupt a data crystal matrix, "but you know I wouldn't ask you to leave the station if I didn't think it was important."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sinjun muttered, starting to catalogue excuses. How hard would it be to get Sheridan to quarantine the station? Could she fake the outbreak of some horrible disease? Or would it be simpler to blow up the docking bays...?
"Although I'm sure you'll understand the necessity, consider yourself under orders to attend, come hell or high water," Sinclair smiled broadly, blowing that thought out of the water. Sinjun snarled at him and his smile broadened as if he could see it. "You'll take the freighter 'Queen of Argyle' and rendezvous with a Minbari transport after you leave the station. We'll expect to see you in about five days. Until then, take care of yourself. Sinclair out."
The screen faded to black and Sinjun slapped the screen off with a muttered curse in the general direction of Sinclair's ancestors and lack thereof. She slumped back in her chair (well, Paulie's chair, if you wanted to get technical, which he would, but hers at the moment) and contemplated the basic injustice of the universe in general and the Anla'shok in particular. Three months ago, Sinclair had had to nearly force her to leave Minbar. Now, when she was finally settling in where he'd sent her, finally starting to put all of those hard-earned skills and talents to use, he was trying to force her to come back.
It wasn't that Sinjun wasn't going to be glad to have more Humans in the Anla'Shok -- she wanted access to first-hand reports from Mars Colony and EarthDome like she wanted to breathe, and Minbari Rangers just could not be inconspicuous in either place. But, however helpful the results, she had better things to do than try to make nice with a bunch of strangers and a group of Minbari who didn't want her around in the first place.
"Damn, damn, damn," she swore softly. And the day had started out so well, too. Warren Keffer had forwarded that message from Damita Winchester; the girl had gotten back to Earth safely and was apparently dealing fairly well with the consequences of her little adventure -- "My grandmother couldn't decide whether she wanted to hug me or yell at me," Chess had told him with a wry grin, "so she kind of did both for about three hours after my shuttle landed at EarthDome. It was an experience."
In short, a happy ending, something Sinjun had almost managed to forget actually existed. On top of that, she'd finally managed to slip around Garibaldi's security into the Customs database and now had access to the list of people admitted on and off-station every day, which would make keeping track of ambassadors and other VIPs, not to mention Rangers, *much* easier. And, to round out the day, Anla'Shok Anric had stopped onstation for the latest grocery run (Sinclair had, as expected, recruited Manny Chang approximately ten seconds after meeting him) and dropped off messages from Minbar -- a funny one from William, a brief but entertaining one from Joe Ericsson, and an affectionate one from Nalenn.
Unfortunately, the same group of messages had also included an imperious summons from one Jeffrey Sinclair, Anla'Shok Na and newly-certified galaxy-class pain in the ass.
"I'm not going," she informed the monitor sulkily, aware that she sounded like a five-year-old and not particularly caring. "He can't make me do this, I don't care if he is the Anla'Shok Na. I'm not going."
The shuttle descended smoothly towards the landing facility outside Tuzanor, and Sinjun stared at her pouting reflection in the window. *I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe he made me go. *
But he had and she was. Another message from Minbar, followed by an unannounced visit from the Ambassador from Minbar, had made it very clear that Sinjun was to obey orders and get her butt on the arranged transport, or face the wrath -- or worse, the disappointment -- of both Delenn *and* Nalenn. Despite every objection, legitimate or otherwise, that Sinjun had been able to come up with, she'd still had to inform Paulie she was taking ten days off (and hadn't *that* been fun!), invent a gig somewhere off-station to tell Zack and Warren about (well, it was almost true; she'd have to find someone to sing for before she went back), and make sure every Ranger due onstation knew to use the Changs' grocery store as a drop point while Sinjun was gone (and accept the care package the size of Mars *from* the Changs).
All missions accomplished, here she was -- tired, bored and grimly sure that war had broken out the moment she left Babylon 5, and she just hadn't heard about it because they'd been in hyperspace.
Still, she sighed, as the shuttle shuddered and hit the landing field, she was here, and she'd better get ready to maintain her image -- she had infant Rangers to impress, warrior caste members to annoy, and Jeffrey Sinclair to make aware of her extreme displeasure. Not in public, of course, it would be bad for the image of the Anla'Shok. But nothing would save him in private, Anla'Shok Na or not.
With that grim resolution, she began assembling the two bags she'd brought with her -- mostly essential clothes and data crystals of music and notes -- and the huge box that was Manny Chang's care package. It was going to be interesting getting everything off-ship; she somewhat facetiously tried to remember how to say "Bellhop!" in religious dialect. She'd also, reluctantly, brought along her guitar at both William and Nalenn's requests. Although where William thought she was going to play the thing, she had no idea; certainly not for a load of strangers in Ranger uniforms....
As if her thoughts had conjured him, the door to her compartment slid open and a shock of dark hair attached to a wiry body and a wide smile appeared around the door frame. "Welcome back, Sinjun!"
It would have taken a much more evil person than Sinjun to snarl in the face of William Cole's obvious goodwill, but she gave it her best try. William seemed unfazed. "Did you have a good trip?" he asked, taking her bags from her. "No trouble with the transfer, right? How are things on Babylon 5?"
Well, he *tried* to take the bags from her; she hung onto them grimly. "It was a terrible trip, I *miss* Babylon 5, the scenery in hyperspace is dreadful and someone sent me a chipmunk disguised as a Ranger for a welcoming committee."
Anyone else would have been offended. William, damn his eyes, laughed at her. "Good to see you, too, Sin. You know, you're going to have to put the bags down to change anyway, so you might as well let me have them."
Sinjun lifted an eyebrow at him. "Change? What's wrong with me now?"
"Besides the attitude problem?" William asked innocently.
The only thing that saved his life was that Sinjun admitted he had a point. Not that she'd say it out loud; she still tried the snarl again on general principles, and, again, it rolled right off of him.
He kept talking, apparently blissfully unaware of his own impending homicide. "There's nothing wrong with your wardrobe, but you know, it's just not..." he studied her like a fashion designer on the runway, "... it's not *brown* enough."
With the flair of a magician, he reached back into the hall and picked up a bunch of familiar-looking brown clothing, extending it towards her. "With the Anla'Shok Na's compliments; dinner's served in half an hour and we're both expected. So hurry up and change, I'm starving."
Sinjun looked from William to the pile of material with narrowed eyes, trying to hide the sudden sickness in her stomach. That was a Ranger uniform. Damn Sinclair, he'd thought of everything.
"I assume you're my escort to dinner?" she asked William tightly.
He was finally beginning to register that something was wrong; his eyes studied her with the first trace of worry, and he held the uniform out a little further, as if to make sure she'd seen it. "That's the idea," he said slowly. "If you want to go alone... or if you'd rather someone else came with you...."
Sinjun winced at the look in his eyes, feeling obscurely as if she'd just kicked a puppy. "No, William...." She sighed and forced herself to take the uniform, and the boots he produced from behind the door in the same way he'd brought out the uniform. "I'm sorry, Will, it's just been a long trip, and I didn't want to make it in the first place. I shouldn't take it out on you."
He nodded, good humor restored, although he kept a damper on it this time for her benefit. "Well, you're here now, and there's a lot of people who're dying to meet you. So get moving and let's go have some fun!"
He disappeared back out the door, stopping only to heft the Changs' care package, and Sinjun stared after him, caught between amusement and irony. "Oh, yes," she sighed. "This is going to be fun. Right."
Aside from that, Sinjun hadn't brought much baggage -- from what Sinclair had 'let slip', William knew she'd probably been busy trying to think of ways to get out of coming when she should have been packing. He couldn't quite figure out why Sinjun, who was more at home in crowds full of strangers than anyone he'd ever met, should have fought so hard against coming back to a place she knew with people who would welcome her. But judging from her mood, that was exactly what she was doing.
Well, he knew she had some hard feelings with some of the Minbari Rangers, but the ones who had given her the most problems were also the ones who had taken off to rejoin the warrior caste as soon as Ambassador Sinclair had taken over, so they wouldn't be a problem. Most the Minbari left were young, and relatively flexible and easy-going for Minbari. The Humans were a very good lot, Sinclair wouldn't have recruited any other kind. And all of them held Sinjun Ross -- the first Human Ranger except for the Anla'Shok Na himself -- in high respect.
So she had nothing to worry about, right? Right. Unfortunately, he didn't think he was going to have much luck convincing her of that.
"Sinjun?" he called as his watch ticked off ten minutes since he'd left the other Ranger alone. "Did you die in there?"
"No," she called back, "I'm coming."
True to her word, she emerged less than a minute later, fully clad in Ranger browns. The cowl-necked shirt and vest camouflaged her upper body, to William's slight regret, but the effect of the pants, which he'd never seen Sinjun wear before, more than made up for it. A pendant swung on a gold chain underneath the cowl -- two figures, one Minbari, one Human, facing each other across a blue-green Isil'Zha. That, more than anything, made her look different, almost like a stranger.
She also looked uncomfortable as hell, tugging at the bottom of her vest. William had more or less expected that, though, and already had his opening line ready. "Wow. I thought you couldn't look better than those dresses at Paulie's, but this might do it."
"Like hell," Sinjun snorted, starting down the corridor without looking at him; he was willing to bet that she was taking petty satisfaction in hearing him fumble with the box as he raced to catch up. "I have to wear trousers. I *hate* trousers."
"Trust me, no one else will mind." He leered at her rear end, which was shown off quite nicely by the hated trousers. Sinjun gave him a hard look over her shoulder and he grinned back unrepentantly.
That did the trick -- her lips twitched, then she finally chuckled. "Damn you. Has anyone told you lately that you're incorrigible?"
He considered. "Not lately. And anyway, it just incorriges me."
She froze, her mouth still half-open, and glared awesomely at him. He didn't even break stride, just walked past her and hoped her respect for her own dignity would outweigh the urge to race down the shuttle corridor and kill him.
Apparently it did. She started moving again and caught up before he quite made it to the hatch. "You will pay for that," she informed him dreadfully.
"I don't doubt it," he returned. And he didn't actually --- that had been a pretty bad pun, even for him.
The flyer was right where he'd left it -- there had been only three other passengers on the small shuttle and they'd departed while Sinjun had been dragging out changing into her uniform. A medium-tall, sandy-haired soon-to-be Ranger uncoiled his body from the controls and hopped to the ground, helping William with the box.
"What the hell is in this thing?" he asked as the two of them wrestled the box into the fourth seat in the flyer.
"No idea, but it's from the Changs," William shrugged. "Whatever it is, we're going to have to make Manny share. Kell, this is Anla'Shok Sinjun Ross. Sinjun, Kell Reardon."
Kell finished positioning his side of the box and extended his hand to Sinjun with an easy smile. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Ross -- we've heard a lot about you."
Sinjun studied him for a second before taking the offered hand. "I'll bet you have," she murmured.
"Oh, yeah," Kell agreed evenly, his eyes laughing. "But since most of it came from William here, we didn't really believe much."
"Hey!" William objected, "I am the *soul* of reason and veracity, my every word a testament to honesty--"
"--and longwindedness," Kell finished for him, helping Sinjun into the flyer with easy competence, if not the flourish William himself would have used. William attempted to look misused and wounded as he swung into the seat beside the box, and was rewarded by seeing Sinjun chuckle again and begin to relax.
"Next stop, Tuzanor," Kell said, feeding power to the engines and lifting smoothly off the ground. William envied Kell his skill with the flyer -- if he'd been at the controls, they would have hit at least one building by now. "I hope you're hungry, because they're holding dinner for us."
The trip from the landing field to the Ranger base, at the base of the mountains on the other side of the city, took about fifteen minutes. Kell and William kept up a running commentary as they skimmed over the beautiful crystal buildings of Tuzanor, displaying all of the sights for Sinjun until she soberly (and with twitching lips) reminded them that she'd lived there for ten years. Which only inspired the two men to greater heights, as they vied to point out new gardens, trees that had gotten taller, and the brand new statue in front of the Anla'Shok Na's office. By the time Kell brought the flyer to a gentle halt in the base airfield, Sinjun had forgotten herself enough to be actually smiling.
Fortunately, Sinjun either didn't think to ask, or didn't want to know, why they'd landed her shuttle at the main Tuzanor field instead of the Ranger field. If she had, William was fully prepared to tell her all about the confusing landing schedules and the desire to keep non-Rangers off of the base -- both of which would be partially true. But he'd also counted on those fifteen minutes to get Sinjun relaxed and to give her time to find another ally in the laid-back Kell. William reminded himself to thank Kell later for going along with the routine so willingly.
Unfortunately, anything he and Kell had managed to accomplish went out the window the closer they got to the 'mess deck', as every former EarthForce member persisted in calling the dining hall. With every step they took towards the door, Sinjun's body grew tighter, her face grew grimmer, and she went back to twitching at her vest and trousers. "You look fine," William finally told her, firmly removing her hand from her pendant and forcing it down to her side. "The uniform fits."
"The uniform isn't the problem," she returned tightly. "*I'm* the one who's never fit."
As if she regretted saying even that much, she lengthened her stride, hitting the door about two steps before Kell and William. It swung open, bringing with it the sounds of 70-some-odd hungry Humans and Minbari waiting for food.
Predictably enough, everyone stopped talking as soon as they realized who the new arrival was, turning on the benches at the long tables to stare -- the Minbari more politely than the Humans, but with no less curiosity. Sinjun froze so suddenly and so completely that Kell and William almost ran over her. William steadied himself by grabbing her shoulders, and caught a look at her face as he did so -- she was wearing the same expression she'd had when she'd first seen Anla'Shok Dorann and Anla'Shok Anric sitting in her rooms. Mingled resentment and fear, and a grim determination to hide both under total blankness.
He wanted to hug her, but suspected she'd hurt him. Instead, he unobtrusively nudged her further into the huge, sunlit room, and made a big deal out of searching the tables. "Hey, Joe!" he called, his voice deliberately loud in the silence. "Look who's here!"
Joe Ericsson looked up from his bench halfway across the room, as if he'd just noticed their arrival. Without bothering to get up, he called back, "Well, it's about time. There's seats over here -- sit down so we can all eat, already!"
"Let's go," William told Sinjun quietly, "unless you're scared." She shot him a look that said he'd pay for that crack later, but it got her moving. She walked stiffly, with none of her usual grace, through the tables to seat herself next to Joe. William and Kell snagged the seats across from them, and the first tables started getting up to serve themselves as conversation resumed.
"How was your trip?" Joe asked, as if he didn't notice that Sinjun was sitting as if she was expecting to be attacked at any moment. "We weren't sure whether you were going to make it to the ceremony or not."
"I almost didn't," Sinjun said tightly.
"But you did," William said cheerfully. "The Anla'Shok Na says you're going to help in the induction--"
"That's news to me," Sinjun muttered.
"--and that he's going to ask you to give everyone else the same briefing you gave me and Joe on Babylon 5," William finished, ignoring the interruption.
Kell leaned back in his chair. "So if you were hoping for a vacation, looks like you're out of luck."
Sinjun rolled her eyes. "Now there's a surprise," she groaned, but with an actual trace of humor.
"We're looking forward to hearing about it," an earnest, and amused, young Minbari woman said from Joe's other side, speaking in accented but understandable Interlac. "William and Joe have told us so much about their visit there, and it's so important to the Anla'Shok Na."
Sinjun opened her mouth to say something, probably rude about the Anla'Shok Na, but, in the face of all that innocent enthusiasm, closed it. The table next to theirs came back with trays loaded and William's companions got up gratefully. "Chow time!" Kell announced in case anyone had missed it.
Still, she could only manage a few swallows of juice and just picked at the rest of her food as the conversation flowed around her. Kell Reardon was harassed about the bruise on his head, courtesy of being whapped by Sech Turval's reed when he'd almost fallen asleep at meditation; he retaliated by teasing William about being politely asked to leave pilot training, where he'd apparently been proven to be a menace to everything else in the air. Joe watched with an air of amusement, refereeing when necessary. The green-eyed Minbari woman, Kerann, was only slightly more reserved than the three men; she more than held her own in the repartee, to Sinjun's surprise.
All of this was turning out to be a surprise. Standing on the threshold of the mess deck, looking out over all of those brown uniforms and realizing that more than half of them were Human, where'd she'd been accustomed to seeing a sea of Minbari -- that had been the first shock.
Her easy absorption into the small group of three Humans and two Minbari -- the other, a man around William's age named Niltak -- had been the second. There were no hostile looks, or veiled threats from the rest of the room. Reserve, yes, due any stranger in a group that had become close-knit, but there were also smiled and nods of approval and -- ye gods and little fishes -- respect. And the conversation flew between them all with very little regard for race -- Interlac and Adronato mixed easily, although Interlac seemed to be the lingua fraca.
The third shock was looking around again and realizing that she was one of the oldest people present. Most of the Rangers in the mess deck were William's age or younger -- Joe, in his mid-thirties, was the oldest Human, and only a few Minbari, most of whom she recognized from her own training days, were much older. And there were a lot of familiar faces missing -- some off on assignments, many simply gone, returned to warrior caste when Sinclair had taken over.
She didn't miss those faces.
No, Tuzanor really had changed, when she would have sworn it hadn't changed in a thousand years, and wouldn't have changed for a thousand more. It was a lot to take in. So she kept her mouth shut and her eyes on the food, until William nudged her and she looked up, realizing the table had gone silent.
And no wonder. "Sech Turval!" She made it to her feet before she even knew she was moving, bowing to the head teacher -- and former Anla'Shok Na -- in real respect. The others at her table, then the rest of the room, imitated her.
The old Minbari teacher smiled and waved them all back down. "No, Anla'Shok Ross, I did not intend to interrupt your meal," he said in Interlac -- a fourth shock. She'd never heard him speak anything but Adronato before. "I only wanted to welcome you back to Tuzanor, and convey a message from the Anla'Shok Na. He requests that you meet him at his residence when you have finished eating and have settled in. He has some questions for you about Babylon 5."
"I... Thank you for the welcome," Sinjun stumbled in Adronato, wishing for the wit and charm that came so easily in Paulie's. What was it about Tuzanor that reverted her to an awkward, frightened sixteen-year-old? Or was that a stupid question? "I will report to the Anla'Shok Na as soon as I can."
"Fine, fine." Turval beamed at the room at large, human and Minbari alike. "I want all of you to make it an early night -- since you have no studies, there will be no excuse for yawns during your meditations and initiation ceremony. I will not have my reed handy, but I'm sure substitutions can be made."
"Yes, Sech Turval," rolled in from every table; Sinjun stifled an unexpected giggle, realizing they all sounded like a group of very polite kindergartners. If Turval saw anything amusing in the response, he kept it to himself, except for the trace of a twinkle in his eyes.
"Then I'll say good night to you all." He strolled out the same way he'd come in, dignity and self-respect personified.
"So *that's* where you learned that walk," William observed, looking from Turval back to Sinjun. "He does it better, though."
"He's had more practice," Sinjun responded automatically, picking up her plate as she rose again.
"He did say you could finish eating," Joe pointed out.
Sinjun shook her head. "I'm done. I just want to get this over with."
William got up at the same time, taking his plate, which he'd apparently licked clean, with him. "I'll show you the way."
Sinjun gave him a patient look, resisting the urge to grab his hand and beg him not to make her go alone. "I used to live here, Will, you keep forgetting that. Stay here and have dessert or something -- I'll be fine."
She hoped.
April 19, 2269 [To Dream in the City of Sorrows]
Strolling across the compound to the Anla'Shok Na's residence brought with it a flood of memories, much as flying over the city earlier had. The sun had started to go down, and twilight caught the ancient crystal buildings, setting them aglow in shades of purple and blue and gold. The trees whispered softly in the faint breeze, their leaves brushing against each other in counterpoint to Sinjun's quiet footfalls. She'd walked through the compound many times like this before, reveling in the quiet.
Those twilight moments had, sometimes, been her only real peace, in the absence of any eyes to look at her, any emotions to lash out at her --- the only member of her race present and, therefore, a legitimate target.
As then, the grounds themselves were more or less silent now -- all of the Rangers-in-training were in the dining hall, the instructors off doing whatever it was instructors did when there were no classes to hold. Most were probably in the chapel preparing for the induction ceremony. Even the worker caste members, who usually crawled over the grounds like a small, unobtrusive army, had disappeared for the evening, back to their homes and families.
Actually, now that she thought about it, Sinjun was fairly certain she'd seen more than one worker caste face in the crowds in the mess hall. Another of Sinclair's innovations, since worker caste hadn't been allowed to do much of anything except, well, work, for centuries. He'd probably snuck it in while everyone was still having conniptions over Humans being allowed to join. Sinclair was nothing if not sneaky.
Look at the way he'd managed to procure a perfectly-fitting uniform for her, and then had the gall to have William, at whom no one could be angry for long, deliver it. She snorted, the sound echoing oddly in the still air. Oh, Sinclair was a tricky one, all right -- the universe had better be on its toes around him. Anla'Shok Ross sure as sin would be.
The Anla'Shok Na's residence had moved, but she'd been warned about that -- well, the building itself hadn't moved, but the occupant had. Instead of the quarters that had been used for centuries by the leader of the Rangers, ever since the death of Valen, Sinclair had set up -- or been set up -- in the quarters of the Entil'Zha.
Standing in front of the door, Sinjun had to beat back a superstitious shudder. She didn't believe in fate, or destiny, or returning souls, or any of that religious caste nonsense, but she had a good sense of history, and a healthy respect for the man who had been called Valen. Putting someone else in his quarters, the quarters that had been maintained as if he was expected back at any moment....
The man inside had damn well better be prepared to live up to the man he was replacing.
Taking a deep breath, she touched the door panel; a three-note chime sounded, and the door slid obediently aside a moment later. Sinjun stepped inside, bowing automatically. "Summoned, I come..." she began in Adronato, then stopped as she realized the main room, instead of containing only Sinclair, was also filled nearly to capacity with three other Minbari -- Turval, Rathenn of the Gray Council, and...
"Nalenn!"
She wanted to run across the room to throw herself into Nalenn's arms; instead, she calmly and coolly walked across the room, and bowed respectfully. His eyes twinkled as he looked -- not very far -- down at her. "Such formality," he teased gently in Adronato, taking her shoulders in his hands and hugging her. "Welcome home to you, daughter."
Abandoning dignity, she hugged her foster father back, allowing herself only a split second to bury her face in his shoulder. Then she stepped a little way back to study his familiar face -- a face that had meant home since the first time he'd sat beside her in a garden on Earth.
And a face that was more wrinkled now, she saw, disturbed, and his body was thinner, more frail beneath her arms, as if he'd aged years in only two months. But his eyes were still bright, and they still looked at her with warmth, and the only unconditional love she'd ever known.
"It's good to be home, Nalenn," she told him with a smile, and almost meant it. "I was going to come see you right after dinner, but..."
"But instead, we both came to see the Anla'Shok Na," he finished with another smile. "A remarkable coincidence."
She wrinkled her nose at the teasing automatically, then abruptly remembered their audience as someone, probably Sinclair, cleared his throat. Nalenn squeezed her shoulder once more, then released her; she let her own arms drop reluctantly and turned to bow first to Sinclair, then to the two Minbari. "Ambassador, Satai. Sech Turval."
Rathenn and Turval returned her bows with shallower versions, but Sinclair left his chair to offer a handshake instead. Sinjun blinked -- the gesture, natural on Babylon 5, seemed oddly out of place here -- but took his offered hand. He gripped hers firmly, his face lit with what looked like a smile of genuine pleasure to see her.
"Glad to see you could make it, Ms. Ross," he said, with only a hint of irony.
Sinjun started to roll her eyes, then caught herself. She couldn't, however, quite keep from muttering, "As if I was given any choice in the matter. Ambassador."
Sinclair grinned with absolutely no remorse and just a hint of smugness, and politely escorted her to the single remaining chair before taking his own seat. The other three resumed their places and Sinclair leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands in front of him. "So, how are things on Babylon 5?" he asked seriously.
"Tense is probably the best description, sir," Sinjun answered formally, very aware of her brown uniform, and unconsciously waiting for Rathenn or Turval to chastise her for wearing it. "And growing more so by the day."
"The Narn and the Centauri are still fighting?" Rathenn was leaning forward now, obviously focused on her. Sinjun fought the instinctive stiffening of her posture -- she liked and respected Turval, but Rathenn.... He was Gray, and therefore not to be quite trusted.
"Have they ever done anything *but* fight?" Sinclair half-groaned, as if he hadn't noticed any tension at all.
Sinjun almost laughed. "Not that I've seen." The brief moment of humor passed too quickly. "The situation is getting worse -- Security has to break up more and more 'encounters' every day, according to Zack, and Dr. Franklin says he's had to treat, and I quote, 'so many beat-up Narn and Centauri, I'm ready to just give them their own section of Medlab so they can take care of their own damn injuries.' End quote."
Sinclair shook his head, smiling faintly. "That sounds like Stephen. And the Shadows -- have you found any evidence that they're involved in this?"
"Hard, concrete proof? No." Sinjun bit her lip, then made herself look him in the eyes. "But I think... No, I'm *sure* they are involved. The destruction of the Quadrant 37 base has still never been satisfactorily explained. No one can find any evidence at *all* of who attacked the base and I refuse to believe that the Centauri could pull off an attack that massive without leaving *some* signs. No one that I've ever seen could have -- which leaves only what I haven't seen."
She shrugged and sighed. "I told you what Lt. Keffer saw in hyperspace a few months ago -- if that wasn't a Shadow ship, then I will eat my Isil'Zha. They are out there and they are active, and their fingerprints are all over Centauri Prime, even if we can't see them yet."
She looked around the room, braced for one of the other to refute her analysis -- or worse, dismiss it. To her surprise, she found all four men nodding in agreement. "I must agree with Anla'Shok Ross's assessment," Rathenn said soberly and unhappily. "I fear the time we have been waiting for is even closer than we feared."
"Damn," Sinclair swore softly, staring down at the floor as if the secrets of the universe were woven into the small rug beneath his chair. He collected himself after a long moment of silence, looking up and refocusing on Sinjun. "Anything else on station we should be aware of?"
"Nothing I haven't already sent, I think," Sinjun answered. "Paulie hasn't gotten any business from the Underground Railroad in weeks, so we're pretty sure the telepaths have moved off-station. I'd like for a few Rangers to be sent out to try to track them down, offer some help if we can."
"Oh really?" Sinclair lifted an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, really," Sinjun said, trying not to sound defensive. "All Psi Corps propaganda aside, Stephen wouldn't have been helping them if they weren't mostly decent people. And it couldn't hurt to keep in touch with people who are bound to keep track of everything around them out of sheer self-preservation."
"Mmmm." Sinclair thought about it, then nodded. "As it happens, I agree with you. Send out whoever you can, Sinjun, and we'll see what we can do."
"Me, Ambassador?" Sinjun blinked. "I'm not.... I don't...."
"You know what we need and where to start looking," Sinclair cut off her instinctive protests. "And it was your idea, so you get to be in charge of it."
"But, I..." Sinclair's smile was teasing, but there was a glint to his eyes that said he was dead serious; Sinjun tabled the issue to fight about later. She was building up quite a list.
Turval stepped in smoothly to fill the gap. "Have you located any more possible recruits, Anla'Shok Ross?"
"One or two," Sinjun answered, with a last glare toward Sinclair, who had the nerve to look amused. "Do we have many lined up for the next training cycle?"
"Oh, one or two," Turval answered. "Several younger Minbari have come forth from all three castes, and your friend Joe Ericsson has spoken discretely to several of his pilot acquaintances, some of who have expressed interest. They'll be coming to Minbar soon...."
"We still must locate new sources for raw materials and expedite construction of the White Star Fleet," Rathenn put in. "If the Shadows are truly taking an active part in events, the fleet must be ready to meet them when they show themselves."
"Agreed," Sinjun said. The young Ranger finally relaxed enough to imitate Sinclair's posture, leaning forward in her chair with her hands clasped loosely between her knees, and to offer her opinion in matters outside of Babylon 5. To Sinclair's mingled regret and anger, she hadn't quite managed to hide her surprise when her suggestions had been both listened to and acted upon. "Have we got crews for the ships yet? Hell, a crew for the prototype?"
"We're getting there. As for supplies," Sinclair continued, "William Cole's brother currently owns and administrates the Arisia Mining Colony, with production concentrated on Quantium-40. Think Anla'Shok Cole would be up for playing goodwill ambassador?" he asked Sinjun.
She grinned. "I think he'll love it. Will's brother is one of his favorite topics in the universe."
"Good, we'll send him off, then." Sinclair stretched and stood, looking at the clock. "I think that's enough for this evening -- we'll issue the last of the assignments after the ceremony tomorrow, and then see who we've got left at home. Gentlemen, Anla'Shok Ross, thank you for your time."
The four visitors rose and began their farewells; Sinjun fell into step beside Nalenn, but Sinclair's called after her before she could quite hit the door. "Ms. Ross, would you mind staying a bit longer?"
Sinjun opened her mouth to protest, looking towards Nalenn, but the older Minbari stopped her with a quick gesture. "We'll have time to talk later, daughter. Good night."
"Good night, Nalenn," she said reluctantly, kissing him on the cheek, then walking back into the room as the door closed behind him.
Sinclair waved her down into Nalenn's chair, closer to the window, but stayed standing, staring silently out at the city for long moments. He was aware of Sinjun shifting uncomfortably beside him, but his thoughts were a long way away.
"Ambassador?" Sinjun finally said questioningly. Wonderful; they were back to being formal. "You wanted to talk to me?"
He pulled himself back to the present with an effort, and smiled at the Ranger. "Yes, I did, Ms. Ross. Would you please relax?" he told her, when her posture got even straighter. "This isn't a formal conversation, I just wanted to ask you few questions in private. I know it's been an... interesting couple of months."
As he'd intended, the accent on 'interesting' pulled a wry expression from her. "'Interesting'. You say that exactly as Garibaldi says 'exciting'. Yes, I suppose interesting is one word for it."
Sinclair chuckled quietly. "I've been meaning to apologize to you for throwing you into the deep end like that. I was a little short on time, but that's no excuse."
Sinjun waved the apology off awkwardly. "It's all right, I coped." He gave her a sideways, lifted-eyebrow glance, remembering the well-bred temper tantrum she'd thrown in his office, and she grimaced. "So I was a little upset. I calmed down before we were halfway to B5. And it hasn't been bad so far. Busy, and strange to stay undercover for so long, but not bad."
"Well, that's something." Sinclair sighed and looked back out the window, surreptitiously studying the reflection of his companion's face in the dim, silvery light from the city below. There were already changes, he realized, in just the few short months since he'd sent her away from Minbar. There were cracks around the edges of the Minbari-like mask she'd worn; her lips were a bit quicker to smile, her eyes a bit less shadowed. Small changes, but for the better. And when she looked out the window, her gaze went in the same direction his did -- towards Babylon 5.
He wondered what she saw there. Who she saw.
"How is the station?" he finally asked the question he really wanted answered. He'd read all of her official reports, but they didn't tell him the details he wanted -- how Ivanova was adjusting to the new commander, if Michael had recovered from the attempt on his life, if Londo and G'Kar had managed to kill each other yet... He missed them all like hell.
Sinjun thought, eyeing him and obviously trying to figure out how he wanted the question answered. "I thought we already went over this, Ambassador. The station is tense, and doesn't look like it will ease up any time soon. The Council is trying to keep the peace, but they keep being distracted by other matters. There have been a few Free Mars demonstrations, but...."
"Sinjun, knock it off," he said, more sharply than he'd intended, but he was abruptly tired of being treated with respect and courtesy. He was also tired of not getting answers to the questions he asked. Sinjun blinked and looked away in shock, and he controlled his voice with an effort. "First of all, stop calling me Ambassador. My name is Jeff."
Sinjun's face, after the moment of hurt, was a mask of withdrawn tranquillity again. "I can't call you Jeff. You're the Anla'Shok Na, it's disrespectful. Turval would have goglings and Nalenn would disown me."
"You'd have to do a hell of a lot more for Nalenn to disown you," Sinclair informed her, "and since I'm Anla'Shok Na, I get to make the rules. Will you please call me Jeff? At least in private? I haven't heard anyone actually say my name in months. I miss it."
It must have been the faintly pleading tone that got to her; Sinjun looked dubious, but finally agreed, "All right... Jeff."
"Good." Sinclair nodded in satisfaction. "Second, that wasn't what I was asking. I've heard all of the intel reports, I know everything important that's going on -- but I want you to tell me about my station. How's Michael? Has Ivanova murdered any ambassadors yet? Paulie *is* still running black market IDs through the back room, right?"
"Um... Fine, no, and yes, among other things, but don't tell the Chief, he still can't prove it," Sinjun answered slowly. "Garibaldi's doing pretty well and Ivanova's temper hasn't gone off too badly lately... although there was some trouble last week in the Zocalo."
"Trouble?"
"Yes, a little." Sinjun's face was still tranquil and distant, but there was something lurking around the edges that might almost have been amusement. "It seems there was a small disturbance outside the casino at about 0300, when someone accused Ambassador Mollari of cheating. It got a bit ugly, names were called, undignified references to ancestry and sexual habits were made, and someone finally notified Security."
Sinclair started chuckling as she continued, "Garibaldi showed up last, and he was already in a bad mood -- something about Commander Ivanova doing something to his light settings that had them flickering on and off all night, at full power."
"And she did that because...?"
"Something about her coffee disappearing from her quarter three mornings running; Garibaldi swears total, and offended, innocence."
"Which usually means he was guilty of something," Sinclair put in.
"Exactly. So, the Chief was not exactly in a great mood when he showed up, and three other Centauri had already been pulled into the fight, along with about ten Humans, three Drazi and a Minbari who was trying to referee witha remarkable lack of success. And Ambassador G'Kar was standing over to the side; Zack -- Garibaldi's second, I don't know if you ever met him -- Zack says G'Kar claimed he was just observing, but he actually had a pool going on who was going to hit Londo first, the humans or Chief Garibaldi."
"And you know this how?"
"I placed a bet." Sinclair started laughing in earnest at Sinjun's deadpan delivery, and she finally cracked a smile, getting into the story. "I didn't win, though; the bouncer got to Mollari before the Chief could. At any rate, Garibaldi was stumbling around only half-awake and even crankier than usual; Zack was trying to get everyone, including the Chief, calmed down; Mollari was just drunk enough to think he was invulnerable and was shouting insults back at the people he'd been cheating; G'Kar was calmly making book on the whole thing; and the Humans were ready to shoot Mollari and the hell with security regs. Then it got even better."
Sinclair waited, then fed her the straight line. "All right, I'll bite. How did it get better?"
Sinjun smiled beatifically. "Commander Ivanova showed up."
Sinclair's shout of laughter nearly sent him off his chair onto the floor.
"...Paulie turns around and gives Ivanova the most innocent, wide-eyed stare I've ever seen and asks her to please make sure the door is shut on her way out, because, according to the station regs she'd just been citing, it's closing time." Sinclair finished the story with an excellent imitation of Paulie's expression, followed by a quick impression of the stymied, furious Ivanova.
"And she let him live?" Sinjun asked in mock astonishment.
"Amazingly enough, yes," Sinclair grinned. "Of course, the fact that your Lt. Keffer and Garibaldi were both sitting there watching and trying not to smile may have had something to do with that. So she informs both of them that the bar is closed, turns, and stalks out, with Keffer scrambling to catch up and Garibaldi just sauntering out behind her, hands in his pockets, whistling."
"He's not *my* Lt. Keffer, and how long did it take Garibaldi to get your office to tell you about Paulie's little stunt?"
"Oh, all of about five minutes."
He grinned broadly and Sinjun started laughing again. "Well, it sounds as if things haven't changed much onstation."
"Things always change," Sinclair sighed as his smile faded, reaching for the drink he'd poured about half an hour earlier. Sinjun watched him, her head tilted to the side in something that might have been sympathy, or might have been simple curiosity.
"It's been my experience," she said carefully, "that change is usually for the better."
Sinclair raised a dubious eyebrow at her. "Yes, I got that impression when you were kicking and screaming about being forced to go to Babylon 5. And being forced to leave B5 to come back here."
She shrugged without even having the grace to look embarrassed. "Which should just prove my point."
He rolled his eyes and gave up the argument, but talking about the station had reminded him of something. "Oh, I meant to ask you -- after Kell talks to Garibaldi, lets him in on the secret, are you willing to take on the assignment of permanent liaison between him and the Rangers?"
Sinjun looked faintly startled. "I wasn't aware my presence on station was one of the 'secrets' Kell was going to give out."
"I... hadn't really thought of any other options. Do you *want* to stay in the closet, so to speak?"
She stared thoughtfully into her glass. "I'm not sure it would be the best of ideas," she said slowly. "Delenn can easily act as go-between, as can Manny; it might be a better idea to keep a few aces in the hole."
Sheridan leaned forward, setting his glass down with a thump. "You can't suspect Michael of being--"
"Oh, god, no!" Sinjun broke him off, genuinely surprised. "Chief Garibaldi, working for the bad guys? It would never happen!"
"Well, good." Sinclair sat back, mollified. "Then perhaps you'd like to explain about your 'ace in the hole' theory."
"Well, as I was saying..." she said pointedly, "there's an old truism that two can keep a secret if one is dead, and that's more relevant now than it ever was. With telepaths all over the place -- Psi Corps's not working for anyone but themselves anymore, as far as I can tell, if they ever were -- and Shadows possibly in every corner, it seems more logical to leave me out of it for the moment. If I stay on at Paulie's, I'm still easily contacted, and I can keep an eye on the station without exposing myself or anyone else."
Sinclair thought about it. What she was saying made a certain kind of paranoid sense, but... "Michael is not going to be happy when he finds out about this," he warned.
"He'll get over it," Sinjun shrugged, putting her glass down and standing. "If that's all, Ambas... Jeff," she caught herself at his ironic look, "I could really use some sleep."
"Go on, I've kept you long enough. I'll see you before the ceremony tomorrow."
"I'll be there. Good night, Jeff." She headed for the door , but turned just before she reached it. "I was ready to come in stomping in here and start yelling at you again, you know," she said without looking at him.
"I know," he said calmly. "That's why I sent William to get you, and told him to take you to the mess deck first."
She nodded, pursing her lips. "Why am I not surprised?" On that note, she slipped through the door, letting it slide shut behind her.
"Come out!" she snapped, falling into fighting stance. William Cole emerged from the shadows under a nearby tree, his face sheepish and his hands held peacefully in front of him.
"Sorry," he apologized ruefully, "I didn't mean to startle you. But I saw Sech Turval and Satai Rathenn leave a while ago and was waiting for you."
Sinjun slowly relaxed. "Next time, wait somewhere brighter," she advised, "or better yet, don't wait at all. What did you need?"
"Me?" he asked innocently. "Oh, I don't need a thing. But the Changs sent Manny one hell of a lot of food, and he needs help eating it. Would you care to lend your assistance?"
She looked at him suspiciously, but, seeing nothing but innocent sincerity, took his arm. "I suppose so."
William straightened and grinned. "Good, because we set up in your room."
"What?" Sinjun yelped, but William was already towing her down the path towards the barracks. Sinjun started laughing in spite of herself as they went.
Neither noticed Sinclair at his window, watching them go with a faintly bemused, faintly pleased smile.
April 20, 2259 [To Dream in the City of Sorrows]
Sinjun's coat was distracting her.
It was a very nice coat, all things considered -- heavy brown silk-like fabric embroidered on the edges, and fitting perfectly from the sleeveless shoulders to just below her breasts, where it clasped. But below that, it was open, and flared out slightly until it hit her knees; the unfamiliar movement was just enough to startle Sinjun whenever she turned.
Of course, she acknowledged to herself, it might just be that being distracted by the coat meant she didn't have to think about anything else that was happening around her. Like the fact that all of the full Rangers on planet were clustered in the temple to Valen -- the Chapel, as the Human recruits called it. Or like the fact that a full three members of the Gray Council were also in the room, along with the Chosen One himself -- Jenimer, titular head of the Minbari government. Or like the fact that the Vorlon was standing at the back of the proceedings, his gaze through his encounter suit sending shudders of nerves up and down Sinjun's spine whenever she allowed herself to acknowledge his presence.
No, it was much easier to concentrate on the swing of the coat. Hell, it was even easier to concentrate on the Ranger who would be sharing Sinjun's duties in the ceremony. Anla'Shok Dorann, dressed identically to Sinjun and almost the same height, was doing her level best to ignore the Human Ranger's presence, and was succeeding almost as thoroughly as Sinjun was at ignoring her.
Sinjun understood why Sinclair had chosen Dorann -- the Minbari Ranger had severed strong links to the warrior caste to remain with the Anla'Shok, which made her a powerful symbol of the New Way, as the younger Minbari tended to refer to Sinclair's regime. Standing Dorann next to Sinjun, the first Human to become one of the Anla'Shok, made an even more powerful statement.
They both understood their roles here. That didn't mean either of them had to be happy about it.
There was a sudden disturbance at the doors, and Sinjun came to attention by the small table that had been placed beneath the statue of Valen, sensing rather than seeing Dorann do the same after only a moment's hesitation. Through the room, the other Rangers imitated them; the doors to the temple swung open, and the Ranger trainees files in.
There were two lines of them, 21 people in each, flanking the center aisle as they moved down it, leaving room for two people in between. They'd been in meditation since early that morning, but it didn't show. Their faces were deadly serious, their bodies even more so -- posture perfect, every uniform hung precisely, every head of hair combed ruthlessly, every bone ridge gleaming. They came to a stop and waited.
Sinclair rose from behind Sinjun and Dorann, where he'd been sitting meditating on the statue. He moved in front of the two Rangers and contemplated the group in front of him. The silence was absolute; even the temshwee birds, roosting high in the temple's rafters, were still.
When he spoke, his voice seemed to blend with the silence instead of breaking it, becoming one with it. "Valen asked, 'Will you follow me into fire, into storm, into darkness, into death?' And the nine said yes. Then do it in testimony to the one who will follow, who will bring death, couched in the promise of new life, and renewal, disguised as defeat."
The ceremony was old, this part of it used in almost every major ceremony in Minbari religion. Sinjun could have recited it with him; out of the corner of her eye, she saw many Minbari doing just that, mouthing it silently. Most of their eyes were riveted to Sinclair, but not a few were looking instead at Valen's face.
"From birth, through death and renewal, you must put aside old things, old fears, old lives. This is your death. The death of flesh. The death of pain. The death of yesterday. Taste of it, and be not afraid, for I am with you, to the end of time."
Sinclair paused and bowed his head, then took a deep breath, and looked up again, towards the would-be Rangers. "As Valen asked the nine, so do I ask you, you who would be Anla'Shok. Will you turn away from caste and clan to become one with those who stand around you? Will you follow where they lead you, light their way and the way of those who follow you? Will you be Anla'Shok, knowing all that is required of you?"
He paused again, looking at the trainees, meeting each eye firmly. Sinjun remembered meeting that gaze, the night he'd asked her the same questions, the night he'd made her into Anla'Shok. "Will you follow me into fire?" he asked now, as he had then. "Into storm? Into darkness? Into death?"
Another, longer pause, and Sinjun saw jaws tighten, head jerk up in resolve. Then came the firm chorus of voices from the Rangers-to-be. "Entil'Zha veni. In Valen's name, we will follow."
Sinclair nodded, and perhaps only Sinjun saw his fist clench once. Then it relaxed and he nodded, gesturing Sinjun and Dorann forward. Carefully, they lifted their trays, the metal draped with heavy silk in Ranger brown, and walked forward behind Sinclair, moving so carefully that the brooches arranged on the trays never budged. Sinjun's hands were sweating so hard she thought she'd drop the tray, as Sinclair turned to take the first isil'zha from her.
But she didn't and Sinclair turned with dignity to pin the brooch on the first vest -- Linnat, a tall Minbari woman formerly of the warrior caste, but much more tranquil about her choice than Dorann. After fastening the pin, Sinclair extended his hand and Linnat blinked down at him. He took hers in a firm handshake, quite thoroughly breaking tradition, but Linnat didn't seem to mind. She returned the handshake with dignity, if a bit tentatively, and Sinclair smiled, then turned to the Ranger across the aisle from her. Dorann handed this brooch, and Sinclair pinned it in place on William Cole's chest. The young Ranger accepted the isil'zha and the handshake with a grave face -- and dropped a wink at Sinjun that had her fighting back a smile.
42 faces stretched down the aisle, and Sinjun surprised herself by recognizing many of them. Another Minbari woman was next -- the young religious caste Kerann, who had nearly had to force her way into Ranger training over the vigorous objections of most of her fane. Kerann was ready for her handshake, and returned it with a bit more energy than was really necessary.
Then Joe Ericsson, who accepted both brooch and handshake with all of William's gravity and none of his friend's joking. Given the story he'd told over beers the night before, Sinjun wasn't surprised; the Shadow attack on his ship in hyperspace a year ago had destroyed the small freighter and killed Joe's copilot -- who'd also been his wife.
Another Human male, a student named Brian something-or-other, then two more Minbari. One was religious caste; the other, Inesval, was the first worker caste to be inducted in several hundred years, and was apparently taking his responsibilities very seriously. Manny Chang was up next, his thick black hair subdued and his kerry-green eyes for once both alert and serious. He'd drifted his way through life until now, dedicated only to his parents and helping them make a life on Babylon 5. Becoming a Ranger wasn't exactly the best way to do that, but he apparently wasn't worried about whether or not they would understand. As if Manny actually worried about anything....
Two more Humans, both of whom were nothing more than faces yet, and three more Minbari, all religious caste. Then Kell Reardon, who stood straight and tall as Sinclair pinned his brooch in place; he'd been a raw recruit in the Minbari war and had left Earth Force barely two years after the surrender. He had taken with him his sense of duty, his sense of patriotism and his sense of humor, an attribute Sinjun thought would prove even more valuable than his ability to fly anything with wings and weapons.
Another Minbari man, warrior caste; three more Humans; a Minbari woman, worker caste. A motley crew, the lot of them, Sinjun thought to herself, as Sinclair moved down the lines. 75 Rangers now, to fill ranks that had once been 9,000 strong. But there would be more, and they would take this same oath, and swear themselves to this same man, and follow where he led. Sinjun's eyes dropped to the isil'zha's still on her tray, very aware of the pendant swinging below the cowl neck of her shirt.
Sinclair pinned the last brooch in place, shook the last hand and Sinjun barely got out of the way as he turned, and walked back to the alter with Sinjun and Dorann trailing behind. Standing in front of Valen again, he turned back to the new Rangers, who had turned in their formation to face him.
"In Valen's name," he told them simply, "I greet you, Anla'Shok and ask you -- who are you?"
"We are Rangers," the answer came back from 75 throats; Sinjun recited the words with them, as she had four months before -- but, standing with her comrades, she felt the weight of the vow for the first time, felt it settling across her shoulders like a living thing.
"We walk in the dark places where no one else will enter." An acknowledgment of danger; a promise to face it --
"We stand on the bridge and no one may pass." A vow to fight; an oath to defend --
"We live for the One." A gift of loyalty --
"We die for the One." -- a sacrifice of self --
"Entil'zha veni. In Valen's name." --of what was, and is, and shall be....
"In Valen's name," Sinjun whispered; beside her, she heard Dorann do the same, and their eyes met in what was, if not acceptance, at least a certain understanding.
Among the other castes, Sinjun spotted some familiar faces, most of which she could have lived without seeing. Ever again. The warrior caste was heavily present, probably due to serious armtwisting on the part of Jenimer and Gray Council; none of them looked happy to be there, which was the main reason Sinjun was unashamedly hiding in the corner. The religious caste members were either calmer about being there, or simply concealing their distaste better. Or possibly both.
"You are not allowed to hide here all night."
Sinjun half-turned to see Nalenn leaning on his cane a few feet away, smiling down at her with mingled affection and exasperation. "Give me one good reason I can't," she responded easily, taking a drink from her neglected juice and moving a little to make room for him against the wall.
"Because sooner or later, it will become obvious you are hiding, and that would be -- how do you phrase it?-- bad for your image," he returned calmly, and Sinjun made a face into her juice. It was extremely annoying when someone knew precisely which buttons to push.
"My image has nowhere to go but up in this group," she mumbled.
Nalenn gave her a sideways Look, the one learned on young, foolish religious caste acolytes and perfected on young, foolish Gray Council members. But he restrained himself to only commenting, "You underestimate yourself, as usual."
"Maybe," Sinjun answered, unconvinced. But she forced herself out of the incipient attack of self-pity enough to smile at her foster father. "How have you survived these last months without me around to keep things interesting?"
"Oh, the months have been far from uninteresting," Nalenn assured her, leaning against the wall with a faint sigh, his blue and purple robes falling around him, almost too heavy for his frame. His face was tired, Sinjun noticed again, and felt another tug of worry. "Humans and Minbari may share souls, but they certainly do not seem to share a great deal more. Every day has brought with it new... challenges. "
"Sounds like Babylon 5," she snorted. "Except there, we call them crises."
"So I understand," he smiled. "I will have to make a visit there some day, I think; from what you and the Anla'Shok Na have told me, it sounds fascinating."
"It is that." Sinjun finished off her juice, then intently studied the bottom of her glass. "I missed you."
Nalenn was quiet for a moment, and Sinjun studied his hands, still folded over the head of his cane, intently, as an alternative to looking at his face. Then one of those hands came up to rest gently on her shoulder, and she had to meet his eyes. "I've missed you as well, daughter," he said simply. "But you have been doing great works. You make me proud."
She felt herself blushing furiously, but couldn't do anything about it, couldn't find any answer to that simple compliment. She was saved from her own fumbling by William Cole's arrival. "Sinjun, Satai Nalenn," he bowed hastily, his eyes dancing. "The Anla'Shok Na sent me to tell you to stop hiding out in the corner, Sin; if he has to suffer, all of us have to suffer." Nalenn gave her a very distinct '*told* you so' look, and she rolled her eyes in response.
"All right, all right," she gave in less than gracefully, handing William her empty glass and tucking one hand through Nalenn's elbow. Not a common gesture on Minbar, but it let her lend him a little support without being obvious. He accepted her help only until he was standing straight again, then leaned away.
"The Chosen One has asked to speak with you, Sinjun," he said calmly. "Now would be good time."
Sinjun gulped. "After you," she gestured and they walked away with stately grace; William trailed behind, still holding Sinjun's glass as if he couldn't quite figure out what else to do with it.
But everyone had their limits, and the patience that let her listen to a fighter jock tell about the Battle of the Line twelve times a week on Babylon 5 was rapidly running out here.
Sinclair, his eyes also suspiciously glazed, apparently saw the thinly veiled desperation in her expression. He gave a quick nod of his head towards the door. "William and Kell are starting to look impatient, too," he said almost soundlessly. "Go rescue them before William starts talking."
"And starts a war," Sinjun agreed. She made her excuses, which everyone was too busy politely arguing to actually pay attention to, and worked her way out of the thinning mass to where William and Kell were diligently guarding a tray of sweets.
"It's about time," Will said as soon as she was within quiet range. "Almost everyone else is almost gone, we're supposed to meet them."
"Meet who where?" Sinjun snaked a hand past William to snag one of the sticky candied fruits.
"The rest of the Rangers," Kell clarified, "most of whom managed to escape more efficiently than you did, which is leading us to wonder how you've managed to stay undercover this long."
"Bite me," Sinjun shot at him, speaking as well as she could around a mouthful of sugar, then blinked in surprise at her own reflexive response. She'd been hanging around certain Security types too long, oh yes.
Kell looked equally startled, then grinned. "Now there's a thought." William elbowed him and he subsided. "Seriously, everyone wanted some time together before we ship out tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Sinjun managed to get most of the candy off of her teeth. "Sinclair's not wasting any time, is he?"
"No time to waste," William said, soberly for once. Then his grin flashed back into place, and if it was a bit forced, no one was going to comment. "Besides, we've still got beer left from last night, so let's go."
He headed for the door after signaling Manny and Kerann, who extricated themselves from conversations on the other side of the room; Sinjun lingered long enough to grab another candy, then followed. Kell didn't bother grabbing just one piece -- after a furtive look around, he snagged the entire tray, bearing it off as if he had every right to abscond with the refreshments.
Sinjun was too busy shaking her head at him over her shoulder to watch where she was going, and didn't see the small group of Minbari looming in front of her until she'd almost run over them. "Excuse me," she apologized, staggering back a step, and looking up--
--into one of the faces she'd been relieved not to have seen earlier. Shai Alyt Neroon of the Warrior Caste looked down his nose at Sinjun with a sickening familiar expression, the Minbari equivalent of 'who let this insect into the room and why hasn't anyone squashed it yet? In fact, here, let me take care of it'. The three warriors flanking him were attempting the same look, but couldn't quite match Neroon's smug air of moral and racial superiority. The man had a gift.
It shamed and angered Sinjun that her first instinct was to run. But the anger gave her just enough courage to straighten her back and snap her chin up to look Neroon in the face. "Alyt Neroon," she said as coolly as she could when her stomach was threatening to rebel all over his three-foot-wide shoulder pads, deliberately dropping the 'Shai' honorific.
"Ms. Ross," he returned; only ears as finely tuned by years of loathing would have detected the snideness in his voice, and the carefully calculated insult as he dropped *her* honorific.
*He's just dying for a scene, don't give him one,* Sinjun told herself grimly. "That's *Anla'Shok* Ross," she smiled sharply, showing lots of teeth and no humor. "Or are you that far out of the information loop these days, Neroon?"
His eyes narrowed. *A hit, a palpable hit. Good girl, keep it up.* "Forgive me," he apologized, sketching a bow that wasn't one centimeter deeper than necessary. "It is simply hard to reconcile the image of the child I knew with the thought of a member of the Anla'shok."
*Bite me,* almost slipped out again, but she held it between her teeth. *Parry, riposte. Don't let him see the touch. Superior bastard.* "An understandable problem," she said sweetly; her smile felt tight enough to split her face. "I know how easy it can be to find yourself trapped in ways of thinking of the past."
The warriors behind Neroon shuffled and murmured angrily at that crack; Neroon's jaw tightened faintly, but only for a moment. *Touche, dinosaur. En guarde.* "Perhaps so," he said evenly. "Still, lessons of the past should be taken to heart, in case they affect our future."
He said the last with a pointed look down, and Sinjun's lower back suddenly began to throb with remembered pain, the scars burning hot and tight as if Neroon's eyes had the ability to reopen the old damage. Her stomach turned over once, then again, and she swallowed hard, fighting to keep her face blank. But Neroon's icily polite, knife-edged smile brought back the memories -- a lone, frightened Human girl surrounded by warrior caste, their faces distorted with hatred...
"Anla'shok Ross?" Suddenly, she wasn't alone. William and Manny had appeared from nowhere, and flanked her with comforting bulk. William's hand settled on her back, where Neroon couldn't possibly see it, and his warm, firm touch seemed to erase the pain. Not alone. Kerann had also shown up, along with... Dorann? The older Ranger stood calmly off to the edge of the confrontation, apart from the other Rangers, but definitely on the same side. Would wonders never cease?
"I don't believe we've met," Kell was saying from William's other side, smiling calmly and levelly at Neroon. But only a fool would have missed the danger beneath that calm, and Neroon was no fool.
"I don't believe so," he answered, smiling widely. "I was simply renewing an old acquaintance. Congratulations on your induction," he told the new Rangers, "and yours, Anla'shok Ross. I'm sure we'll be running into each other again."
He nodded once toward Dorann, not deigning to speak to her; her jaw clenched but she returned a civil smile. Then Neroon took himself and his entourage off, striding towards Jenimer as if he owned the place and couldn't imagine why everyone was staring.
The room swayed faintly around Sinjun and she willed herself not to do anything stupid like faint or get sick. But nothing could stop the shakes. "Sinjun?" Will asked quietly, and she attempted to smile at him. It must not have been very convincing, because two seconds later, he and the rest of the crew were hustling her discreetly out of the reception hall and into the twilight air.
"Sit," William ordered firmly, and Sinjun gratefully let her knees give way, sinking to the surface of one of the stone benches that were placed throughout the base.
"I'm all right," she lied, keeping her eyes closed and breathing deeply.
"Of course you are," Manny agreed cheerfully, sitting next to her and forcing her head down between her knees with one big hand on the back of her hair. She wasn't strong enough to fight him, so she went, and the world finally stopped spinning.
"Well, that was interesting," William observed calmly after a long minute. "Bloody uncomfortable, but interesting."
"That's Neroon for you, " Sinjun said breezily, trying to lift her head. Manny shoved it back down. "He and I go way back."
"Funny, he doesn't look like your type," Kell said judiciously.
Sinjun started laughing, which wasn't good for her stomach, but did wonders for her spirits. "Oh god, Kell, my stomach was already upset, I did not need that image."
"Make sure you throw up in the bushes and not on us," William offered helpfully.
Sinjun sputtered, and laughed again at the distinct sound of someone being punched. "Oh, *thank* you, Will."
This time Manny let her lift her head, and she looked up to see the four other Rangers gathered around her. Will was rubbing his ribs and Kerann, of all people, was glaring up at him. But he still managed a sunny smile. "Always a pleasure. Just here to help. One of our Ranger mo