“Homecoming" Series
"Part Eight: Home" (written pre '00, re-edited '02)
Note to readers: Yes, this IS how I intended to end it, right from the start!
Comments, flames, advice, general feedback, opinions, responses, questions, ideas, nitpicks, suggestions, flowers, cute baby pictures, and chocolate bars to: h_raelynn@hotmail.com, pretty please!
All things and people invented by jms belong to him. He can have them back whenever he wants. Original characters and settings are my own, if you want to use them, just ask me nicely and I'll say yes. :)
[indicates thoughts.]
*emphasis*
PG - 13 . . . Epilogue.
~~~~
Part Eight - "Homecoming: Home"
Ivanova continued her stroll through the trees, calm and content. [It’s a beautiful day,] she considered. There were a few tiny details about her resignation to hash out, but they didn’t concern her too much. She was safe. Lyta had ensured that ‘detail’ with the alteration of the battle-memories, and the computers' memory was completely wiped for that time, thanks to the radiation damage. Lyta had even said her protection would continue into the future. Susan was happy, truly happy.
The sound of voices picked her attention up, mixed with emotions: sadness, and a few threads of loss. She moved closer to investigate, and saw that people had begun to gather by the shuttles. A few days before, Lyta had passed the message to nearby locations as to who would be allowed to go. Ivanova didn't ask how she got the information, but suspected a semi-illegal scan of a First Council member. The people who would be leaving with the Sophocles that lived in or near The Wall had collected, and were saying goodbye to their friends and families. They were all too distant for a latent to pick much up telepathically, but Ivanova’s eyesight was keen, and she could tell who was who, and who was crying.
They'd be gone for more than a local year, likely, although hopefully less than two. The ones leaving weren’t taking much, just a few personal effects and some changes of clothing. Whatever else they might need, they would be able to buy with a provided account. Ivanova looked them over as she got closer, but didn't know any of them that well, except Jesse, who was waiting glumly by a tree, sitting on a soft travel bag. She looked twice to see if it really was him, but it was.
"Your parents are letting you leave?" She asked in surprise.
"No." He said, not looking up.
"Then why . . . " Ivanova's voice trailed off as she recognised the initials on the bag and a stark realisation suddenly crashed down upon her. "Oh, hell. She isn't! Is she!?"
"Is 'she' what, Susan?" Lyta's voice floated up behind them.
"But - but aren't you needed here?!"
"Yes. But I think I can control the vortex just as well from a greater distance, and the ones leaving will need my protection. And my memories of the music. You saw how Lara reacted to the silence. And I have some . . . unfinished business to attend to, which must be done out there."
"Can I ask what?" Ivanova wondered, meeker than usual.
"I want a family, Susan. I can't get that from here, it seems, although I'd be proud to raise my children here. I plan to do just that. Among other things. Small and large. See young David. Bring my ‘discoveries and findings’ to the general scientific community on First One society and technology. There’s all sorts of information stored in my skull. I want to see how B5 has changed, the Alliance facilities on Minbar. It's likely some of the children here will wish to become Rangers one day, and perhaps a few might want to join earthforce when they’re adults, or the other militaries from other species. Someone needs to begin the process to allow that to happen some day. I know where the other envoy members are waiting, we only need the written list for documentation purposes. It's coming now." She tilted her chin off towards a column of dust that was approaching: a running horse. “Besides,” she added softly, “I heard you were planning on keeping me company anyway."
“Well, yes, but - but I wasn’t going to - I mean - I thought - I . . .”
[It’s all right, Susan. I know you were planning to stay.] Lyta smiled gently and nudged a stunned Susan forward slightly. “You have a job to do, just as important as mine is."
The other people who were leaving with them boarded the shuttles before they did, and Jesse gave a sad salute to Lyta and Susan. "Come back sometime?" He asked Ivanova as he handed over the bag of clothing to its owner.
After giving Lyta a long, considering look, she replied, "I will, don't worry. This might be just the place to retire . . . no links here to yell at me. Time will tell." She smiled at him, and he smiled back, but they could see his eyes were damp. She solemnly shook his hand goodbye. "We will meet again, I promise you."
A few seconds later, the galloping horse and rider caught up to them, and a small sidepack was tossed to them before the rider reigned in and let the horse gradually slow down as it kept going. Lyta caught it with only a slight step to one side - but Ivanova noticed the bag seemed to curve its flight towards her at the last second so that she could reach it. Breaking the seal and opening the scroll that was inside, she examined the contents. A letter she tossed away without reading, having seen enough of Byron's handwriting to recognise it on sight; even as shaky as this example seemed in the brief glimpse Ivanova managed. The list of names and cities she kept, giving it to Susan as they boarded. Lyta stopped for a second right at the threshold of the shuttle's interior, taking one last look around at her home. Smiling kindly, she paused to send a telepathic message to Jesse.
"Ok." He said, and the door was closed behind her. Jesse and the others with him - most waving madly as they cried - were lost to their view.
The next few hours were a whirlwind to Ivanova. The shuttle took off, and spent less than two hours going to the handful of cities and towns to pick up some of the envoy members, having transmitted half the list to the second shuttle. If the crew was surprised to learn Lyta was a member - in fact the leader - of the envoy team, they didn't say so out loud. Most of them had met her already, and decided they liked the fiery woman. Most of the team wasn't human, only 7 members were. There was 6 Minbari, 4 Brakiri, a pair of Drazi, 6 members from 3 different species the crew didn't recognise, 3 Centauri, and a Llort.
Then they were on board the Sophocles, back on the bridge, with Ivanova sitting in a chair she hadn’t used for months, trying not to scratch the back of her hand as the new comlink made her skin itch. She was still surprised at the change, but was grateful she’d had her brain connected enough to locate and destroy the still-sealed envelope before anyone could find it. Lyta stood and watched from her side as the world beside them slowly revolved, a mesmerising sight that filled the whole of the viewscreen.
Ivanova looked at her as Lyta gazed out at the view, saying nothing for a while. The entire bridge was relatively quiet as Ivanova called for Carlson to come to the bridge and take over the watch. Then, softly, "He's going to lose the election, isn't he."
"Yes. If he manages to drum up enough support, he might make Second Council in the next one . . . but I don't think so. My support has been totally withdrawn. The news is spreading about what he did.”
Silence lingered for a few more minutes while the Watcher and a few more of its moons wandered past at the edge of the screen. When Carlson entered the bridge, Ivanova gave the Commander time to sit down before asking, “Would you care to do the honor?”
Carlson nodded, smiling slightly. “Helm, turn us about, and break orbit. Gentle on the engines, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”
“Aye, Sir. Proceeding on the course given to outer system.”
“Good. It’s nothing personal against you, Ms. Alexander, but I am rather anxious to be on my way back home.”
Lyta nodded politely, not saying anything, but her knuckles were white where her fingers gripped her arms. The blue-green white of Teep moved to the edge of the screen, being replaced by tiny moons and uncountable stars, then it was gone and only bright little points of light remained. It would take time to reach the outer moon as planned, they had to arc over the asteroid belt and pass the orbits of several other moons. And, this was the first real test of the engines' ability to actually move the ship. If the engines failed, the crew had no easy way to get back to the world they'd just left, nevermind getting all the way back home to Earth's territory. No alarms sounded, however, and no warning lights lit up that weren't already on constant burn. Ivanova let out a long, quiet breath.
“The watch is yours, Commander.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Ivanova turned and left the bridge, Lyta trailing a few steps behind. The lift doors closed behind them, shutting off the view of the stars. “Deck 14.”
"I'm certainly going to miss it, while I'm away.” Lyta commented, “but it won't be for a long time, compared to my expected lifespan." She sighed as the lift hummed along its route.
"I'd noticed that you haven't aged - just added the scar. The doctors here think you're in your mid-20's based on your health, did you know? And here I'm starting to get gray hairs. Too many grey hairs - I hate mirrors now. But you - you can practically regenerate. Another gift from Kosh?"
"If you can call it a gift. Everyone I know now will likely die long before I will. If I ever do. I've been experimenting . . . The things I can do . . . If the blade that tried to decapitate me hadn't been poisoned, this would have healed by now, as well. It went halfway into my neck, did I tell you that? Severed the ear right off, tore open my spine. It's already almost gone. Other scars have left no trace. I should have realised the inner scars would have healed, too. Instead I chose to believe . . . I can learn from my mistakes, however. I can learn."
“Umm . . . Lyta . . . what did you do to him?” She left the name unspoken.
“Don’t worry. Not a single drop of blood was spilled. I even stuck to the punishments legally outlined in our laws, though I was tempted to do much more in retaliation. I just ensured that he’d never have the chance to make some other poor woman miserable.”
At Susan’s wide-eyed stare, Lyta added innocently, “But he’s still alive!”
The doors opened and Susan led the way to Lyta’s new quarters. “Good.”
[Of course he’s still alive. You can’t make a corpse suffer.]
Susan stumbled mid-step. Lyta, not missing a beat, smiled serenely and walked past her.
~~~~
They didn't jump back through the vortex for another 2 days, instead going first to the moon in the 11th orbit; where the shuttles again had their seats pulled out and made more than a few trips to the cratered surface, with a local guide to show the way to the various storage bays. The shuttles always returned packed full of sealed, radiation proof crates. The cargo hold Ivanova had set aside was soon filled. While watching the last of the crates being settled into place, she estimated that there was almost 2 metric tons of material once the protective layers were stripped away. And, according to the crewmembers who’d been down on the mining facility, there had been several crates left at the automated complex. There just wasn't any room left on board the ship to carry any more.
It wasn't much compared to what a manned and maintained facility might have dug and refined, but the telepaths weren't in any sort of hurry to strip their resources for immediate profit. They did not need to worry about moving on in a decade or two, like many modern operations, but had instead sunk their roots in with the intention to still be there and thriving in a thousand years. Ivanova - and most, if not *all* of the crew - was quite sure that they would succeed.
It was still one hell of a great haul, however, when you though about the value of the contents and their purity levels.
She was still standing there several minutes afterwards, still looking in amazement. [Maybe there will be silk coming back after all! No wonder Lyta sounded so happy when she first saw how much had been ready to go. This is even better than predicted, and they’ve barely begun to mine the world. How much is still there? How much is on those other moons?]
“Captain?”
Ivanova barely managed to not jump out of her skin. “Carlson, hi. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Considering how packed this place is, there isn’t much chance of echoes. What’s in them, anyway? The translators don’t have enough data to read the labels.”
"Just under half of them contain a partly processed trade ore. It's at its last stage before it becomes unstable. The rest are general metals - if I’m reading it right, that crate there has refined gold, those ones the components for titanium. Some others have silver and other valuable metals. The crates we are storing in the fighter bays - the ones we brought up from Teep itself - have medicinal plants, samples, things to share and trade. You've heard how the medical staff was insisting they introduce some of the local medicines to the Alliance. They plan on using the funds from selling it all to get a couple of cargo vessels and supplies. You know, work animals, other medicine, certain plants, books and stuff. It's all in my report."
"If they get a good price, they should be able to afford several ships and the cargo to fill them. Not bad, to get so much metal out of that rock, even if they did have such a large hodgepodge of different species’ mining equipment and the better part of 3 years. Is there anything left for them to extract? There is? Good for them," he said, in a tone that almost sounded sincere. "However, I feel the need to point out that your report is sealed until we reach Proxima, where it will remain sealed until this cargo is offloaded into a secured area. Ms. Alexander said it was a request by the Governor. Not that I'd trust anyone I haven't met."
Ivanova hid a smile at his last comment. "Well, you'll just have to believe that this mysterious Governor is working in our best interest."
"You sound certain."
"That's because I HAVE met her."
“Huh. Well, at least you were able to convince someone worthwhile to be in charge. Alexander has already been quite blunt in her discussions with the fool women who went and got themselves knocked up back on the planet.”
“Hmm. I figured she wouldn’t be too pliant in that aspect. But I suspect her experience in negotiating will be the best tool. She was a commercial teep on B5 for years, and has the ability to not get pushed over too easily. If I ever get a chance to watch a session she’ll be in, I’ll make sure to bring popcorn.”
Carlson laughed, and leaned back against a crate. Then his expression became serious. “Commercial. A P5 then. I had wondered what her rating was. Captain, a question. When did you first start to consider her an ally? Here? Or before? Your general attitude was . . . less favourable to her kind some months ago.”
“I was birthed by one of ‘her kind’, don’t forget. It was before we arrived. I had no idea where she was or if she was even still alive until I finally pried it out of Byron. An ally . . . I guess it was during the Shadow War. When the original White Star was still around, the War Council came across some information that indicated teeps might be able to hinder the Shadow ships, and Sheridan leaped at even the slim chance of self-defence. Only teep around was her, so it was her that was sent out. She did it, slowed it down enough that weapons could get a lock on and shoot the damn thing. Nearly killed her, too, she was bleeding cranially from the effort, according to the crew with her at the time. But she lived, and helped teach the other teeps we managed to recruit how to do it. I guess it got easier with practice, because by the time Coriana 6 rolled around, Sheridan had personally requested her to be on his ship when they went out to fight.”
“Alexander could F-up those black widow killers? No wonder you respect her, they scared the shit out of me - I mean - the whole crew on our ship.”
“It is a big chunk of why all the locals respect her, too, among other reasons. That, and she didn’t so much as squint sideways in my direction on B5. A lot of other members of Psi Corps had tried to scan me at every whim, but she never did. Her orders probably kept any unwanted scans off during our stay on Teep, too. She knows I value privacy.”
Carlson was silent for a few seconds. “Two questions. First, you said ‘we’?”
“Regarding what?”
“Recruiting telepaths to help fight the Shadows.”
“Ah. That. Officially, I was in charge of it. Unofficially, I pawned it off on Lyta and a member of Security. Zack Allan, who’s now the Chief of Security back on B5. I never went near any of them, just got reports back from those two.”
“The same fellow who was in charge when Byron and the others were . . .”
“Yup.”
“Ouch, there’s an about-face to deal with. After he helped them all in the war?”
“No, very few of the telepaths who fought with us against the Shadows lived to see the celebration after we won. Most died - we had so few, we just kept sending them back out to fight, and most either were killed when they got outnumbered, or they burned out and died anyway. Lyta was the only survivor still on B5 when Byron arrived, the rest had scattered. We figured that the death toll would be extremely high, from the original source, but we managed all right in the end. Actually, some of the war vets are living back on Teep. I met a few while there.”
“That was my second question. Where did you find out that telepaths could do that? There must have been dozens, maybe hundreds of ships destroyed, some of which had to have a telepath or two on them, during the years before the full confrontations. Why didn’t the knowledge arrive sooner?”
“It was the fact that ‘someone else’ had done it before they did, that gave each teep the ability to fight, I think. The Shadows were damned scary to normals, never mind what it must have felt like to - uh! I don’t even want to think about it. But the information had been there a long time, it's just that nobody thought to look, and match up the clues. Hindsight says it was plain as day.”
“Where was it?”
“The Book of G’Quan.”
Carlson blinked at her a few times, and cleared his throat before replying. “Right. A narn ‘holy man’ who’d been dead for about a thousand years had the answer. A member of a species *without* telepaths.”
“Narns used to have teeps. The answer was written out with pictures and everything. But, everyone who got close enough to see that the species mentioned and the Shadows were one in the same was blown up before they could pass the word. It wasn’t until a few signals were able to make it out to us that two and two made four. The written passage started out with saying that just about all the teeps died from fighting them, then said that the survivors drove the ships away from their world. The Shadows ignored the Narns after that, but it was too late for all of their teeps. The rest of them had soon died as well.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. She knew fighting those things would kill her, but she followed orders and did it anyway?”
“Hell, no. We didn’t tell her the extinction part. Or where the information had come from. That came afterwards, and let me tell you, her language wasn’t the least bit ladylike.”
“I can imagine . . . Well, Captain, we’ll be jumping soon, I presume? We must be getting close to the local jumpgate.”
“No,” Ivanova replied. [You just had to ask that, didn’t you? Good thing Lyta already came up with a decent cover story for our need for her to control the vortex.] “No, there are a few points where the vortex will just pick you up and spit you out safely into normal hyperspace. There’s no jumpgate here, and a lot of the ships that ferried the colonists were not jump-capable.”
“You’re going to trust us to that . . . THING?”
“Everyone who lives here passed through it safely. Don’t worry - but, I want Lyta standing beside me, just in case it decides it doesn’t like us.”
“Would you think less of me if I asked to be elsewhere, at least until we supposedly end up in hyperspace, and supposedly close enough to a beacon to start our way back home?”
“No, go ahead. I’ll link to you when it’s safe. Go around and pick up morale or something for a few minutes. But try to look disappointed at being ‘late’, all right?”
“Deal.” He exited the cargo bay.
Sighing, Ivanova followed a few moments later, going off towards the bridge.
The vortex opened and they continued their journey, having a smooth ride and locking onto a beacon signal even before they exited into hyperspace. Waiting patiently were a different pair of White Stars, holding position near the closest beacon to provide the first in a series of ‘honour guards’, in case of trouble.
“Shoot, I missed it,” Carlson said as he came onto the bridge.
Lyta would have rolled her eyes, had they not been closed to hide the colour change barely visible between the lids.
Just behind them, the vortex suddenly trembled, withdrawing as it turned bright purple and closed. "What happened to it?" Ivanova asked Lyta, staring at a small screen which showed the rear view. Most other eyes were glued to the front screen with its image of the White Stars, or to their respective consoles.
"It's just been set on Standby. Any ship that's not a White Star - having traces of Vorlon tech in it - will be destroyed automatically, to prevent raiders. A condition provided to ensure safety to our people. It won't return to normal until we return."
“How?” Carlson asked.
Lyta, opening her now-normal eyes again, just smiled at him charmingly and shrugged.
~~~~
Captain’s Personal Log, continued. Carlson’s condition is still improving, and the doctors might consider letting him out of medlab in a few more days. His heart attack wasn’t a major one, but it was still pretty alarming when he just collapsed like that. After living through all of our little adventures, it would have been impolite of the universe to let him die less than two weeks into the return trip. Or so he said. Swore that if he didn’t last the next three weeks, he was going to haunt us from beyond the grave, because he couldn’t get home. I believe the doctors had given him just a wee bit too high a dose of painkillers. I’ll see if there’s any extra paperwork I can pawn off onto him, to keep his brain busy. The report of the next rendezvous should cheer him, anyway. Instead of the usual escort of White Stars or some other Alliance warship, it will be the first Earthforce vessel we’ve seen in a great many months. The Orion arrives in two days, and they’ve got extra supplies and replacement personnel to pass along to us. And a recent archive of ISN broadcasts. I’m less than overjoyed in anticipation. The universe learning of Teep . . . it won’t be pretty. I can see the squabbling panels of ‘experts’ now. The second Earthforce rendezvous won’t be until the fourth week, but we should hopefully be able to have enough maintenance done on the chewing gum and twine job to not need a second shipment of spare parts. Just getting medlab back up to speed will be enough to keep me fairly happy. Two days. It’s not too long a time. Tomorrow I’m going to transfer some more of the ore crates to the White Stars currently with us, so they’ll take it away when they leave. I’m all for letting the cargo get to the secured locations faster, it will reduce the risk of explosion should we be fired upon. I’m not relishing the thought of a raider attack, should they catch wind of what we’re carrying. Passing the buck is a fine art form, I hope to be considered a master at it by the time I’m done here. End Log.
~~~~
"So which part are you going to talk about first, when we finally get close enough for a conversation?" The discussion around the mess hall table returned to a familiarly common topic as the three friends gathered to sit and eat, and to consider the past and the future. There were four place settings, but the crew at the table only numbered three. One setting had been left empty but for a narrow black ribbon. Before the attack, there had always been a fourth person with them whenever they were there. They were not yet willing to allow the seat to be taken by another.
"You've got me there, Ria. Besides 'hi I'm fine you can stop worrying now mom', I don't know yet. There's lots of interesting things, and we'll only have a few minutes each at first. Jan?"
"No idea, Marcie. I'm having a hard enough time figuring out what to say to Terri's parents when I next see them. They'll get the formal letter before I see them and all, but we were her friends. We need to tell her folks something."
"It would have been fast," Brandan mumbled into her plate. "The injuries didn't look to be slow. She wouldn't have hurt for very long. There's that at least."
"Any ideas on what we're supposed to say to the reporters that are sure to be swarming all over us when we get home? We all saw the ISN backlog. They're going nuts. Defend the ship and crew, certainly, but what about the little 'human interest' stories they're gonna want?"
"I'm pleading the fifth. No reporter is going to get anything useful from me," Jan stated firmly.
"Marcie?" Brandan asked apprehensively.
"If I talk 'bout the diggers working, that ought to freak the suits out really good."
"Marcie!"
"Well, a race of lumpy grey potato sacks that just happen to be telekinetics is going to be a shock for the universe. I do wish we'd been allowed to film them working. They way they could snap the blocks out of solid rock, already sized and shaped for assembly elsewhere, that was sure as hell interesting to see. Even if I did almost choke on the dust."
"The brass will be taking up all your shore leave with interrogations, you realise, since you spent so much time on Teep researching all the aliens. They're going to wring you out like a cloth."
"My thesis is almost done because of that. It evens out well in my books, and the learning will be worth the hassle . . . don't tell anyone - but - sometimes, if I was having trouble with something, whoever I was talking to was sometimes strong enough to put the concept right into my brain. That is a strange sensation, let me assure you. Every one of them was humming mentally, or something. Absolutely beautiful tune, whatever it was. I'd give anything to hear it again."
Brandan nodded suddenly - "I've heard it too, it was some kind of memory of an orchestra or something he wa- oh don't look at me like that. He was good looking and single, I haven't completely abandoned being an 'irresponsible kid'. Yet."
"Hah! Kids don't do what you were doing with him, especially the second night! That was right from a porn vid, my god! We heard you two, all night! It's a wonder you were even able to work the next day. But I have heard about that, Marcie - how teeps concentrate on music and math and things to help their blocks stay up, tune out a crowd. It was part of the blocking techniques they made us learn before we could run about the city, remember? Though what *you* could have been thinking to have been *squealing* like that-"
"It was a very pleasant experience," Brandan stated firmly. "Next topic, please!"
"So," Jan started again, "What are you going to say to your folks?"
"For the tenth time, I don't know. I guess we just figure it out as we go," Brandan replied.
The other two nodded and turned their attention towards finishing eating before their break was up.
~~~~
Captain’s Personal Log, continued. 132 earth days after the Drakh attack that started our not-so-little adventure, it’s almost over. A few minutes ago, we reached the Proxima Shipyards, on time and expected. The Sophocles had a few sessions of hiccups along the way, but we made it home intact, although it’s not the home I wanted to return to. Earth is still a long ways off, in more ways than one. I had hoped to be able to visit my family’s graves after my current tour of duty. Few things work out the way you expect. ISN, however, is one of them. The news media in general is having an honest-to- god field day at the concept of an entire planet (at this point in almost every conversation, someone else corrects the speaker with ‘moon’) full of telepaths. Reactions vary from species to species, from group to group, and from person to person. My name has come up more than once. If I had a credit for every time someone had assumed something about my own reaction, I’d be richer than Garibaldi is by now! Actually, some of the ‘reports’ are downright funny. I had no idea I’d killed so many telepaths, especially Psi Cops . . . maybe if I’d actually been there for said events, I’d remember a little more clearly. The only reaction I could get out of Lyta is at best a sigh and ‘it’s going to be a long year’. She looked shocked to find out about some of the horrors of the war they’d fled from, and the footage of the ISA headquarters bombing . . . she kept pacing, and watching, until a summary that Delenn and the other survivors were recovering came on. I’d told her before letting her watch that both David and his mother recovered with only a few scars, but it was still bad to see for the first time. I’m glad Carlson didn’t walk into my office during one of those viewings. He’d probably recognise some of the bodies, even without trying. I didn’t look too closely at the littlest ones, in case I recognised his children by accident. The other relatives of the victims killed by the terrorists are already spouting off new threats against the delegates. They don’t seem to care that all the teeps involved with the massacre died in the event. Hating Lyta’s group solves nothing. Some people are glad to see us, however. Families of my crew who had assumed we’d died, families of telepaths who’d vanished without a trace who can now hope again, and, of course, research companies. The plant specimens we brought with us have had a few samples sent ahead, and medical/pharmaceutical companies are generally quite happy. I’ve already gotten a few . . . how do I phrase this . . . ‘wheedling' messages from Garibaldi. And IPX and various similar companies are all salivating over the prospect of being the first to get their paws on the information gathered by the colonists on other civilizations. For example, the tidbits of info that Lyta’s been dribbling to them about a vorlon outpost the ship she was on supposedly found while they still travelled is turning them rabid with anticipation. The damage estimate team that the EAS ‘Witchhunt’ brought over a few days ago is almost finished. It looks like my ship will only be partly gutted and then repaired, instead of totally scrapped. Good. I’m tired of having my command blown out from under me. But I’ve got a couple weeks of downtime coming while they repair, not including however long it will take to stretch me on the rack. I hate official inquiries. I just know this one isn’t going to be pretty. Ok, so I didn’t do too badly, all things considered, but I can hear the phrase ‘breach of security’ already. Enough with the complaining. I’ve got a shuttle to catch. The command crew and myself, as well as the entire trade envoy (Lyta has refused to let us call her a diplomat but we do it anyway), are due down at the Earthforce base planetside in just under an hour to begin the official proceedings. Oh joy, I’m leaping around the room with glee. That was sarcasm, just in case you missed it. Let the games begin . . . End Log.
~~~~
“How’s he doing?” Lyta asked the question even before Ivanova closed the door behind her. Lyta hadn’t looked up from the many tiny, broken pieces of circuitry on the table in front of her. The bits and fragments sparkled slightly as the warm Proxan sunlight reflected in from the masses of windows.
The Captain didn’t answer at first, instead peeling off her formal uniform jacket and tossing it casually onto the back of a chair. “Hi, Susan, how was the trial? Oh, it was fine, Lyta, thank you ever so much for asking. I didn’t get hung out to dry nearly as bad as I thought, but then I always was a pessimist anyway. So, Susan, what are your plans for the next few weeks, since your inquiry seems to have ended after only 2 days? Oh, I don’t know, Lyta dear, there’s just so much to DO here, and so much time. A big chunk of time will be taken up by further briefings, of course, since I just know the VIP's are going to want every detail they can dredge out of me about your world. I’m not-”
“You’re talking to yourself.” Lyta commented, watching her friend with amusement.
Susan gave a slightly anxious sideways smile, one that Lyta had learned to interpret. Letting her mental guards down, Susan closed her eyes as the faint whispers of music again sounded in her mind.
“You’re getting a little better. You’ve gone three days with silence. Some of the other latents aren’t . . . your crew is doing slightly better then average, probably because of their limited exposure."
“I know. I was a little stunned when they kept coming forward in private and confessing latency. They needed to ask me - well, ask my permission to ask you - on how to get the song back. I knew when picking my crew that when I checked people’s files for reasons to hate Psi Corps, I’d probably get a few latents, but still!”
“They should be fully weaned in another month, don’t worry. Have *you* decided on whether or not to tell earthforce?”
“I’m not. As far as the new Corps is concerned, I’m just another normal. But sixteen, maybe seventeen of the latent crew are going to sign up, when all the noise has died down from your arrival. Try to get training, stuff like that. It’ll guarantee them return passage to Teep, anyway.”
“So . . . how is he?” Lyta repeated.
“The docs say Carlson will be fine in a day or so, but they’ve adjusted his heart medication again, and he requested a transfer to a desk job when I stopped by to check on him a few minutes ago. I wasn’t allowed to stay more than a few minutes. The nurse told me to leave, let him rest.”
“He started to yell at you, didn’t he.”
“Oh yeah. Even if we don’t count the fact nobody ever filled him in on Gray - he first heard about *that* from a reporter who'd got past the hospital’s security - he was more than a tad pissed at the fact I’d never mentioned your official position. He’d been bad mouthing ‘the governor’ in front of her face for so long . . . I did ask him to tone it down shipside, but I guess he just wanted to vent steam, and figured he’d found a safe target. He never said anything bad in front of the other delegates. Didn’t think the others were as forgiving as you seemed to be. And you saw what happened at the formal introductions yesterday - he collapsed again!”
Lyta smiled wanly, stirring the fragments on the table with her finger. “We'll be sticking to Delenn's recommendation to not tell the masses what my title is, even if we needed to let those officials know. Some of the stories already circulating-"
"All of which are probably *true*!"
"-are rather exaggerated, and I'm been beating down what ideas I could. The moving things rumour was - and still is, unfortunately - very widespread, for example, but luckily your crew is taking things with a very large grain of salt. So the inquiry went okay? It’s over this quickly?”
“You could say that. Wasn't more than a briefing, really. They . . . are going to give me another medal.”
Lyta looked up and grinned. “You did answer a great big mystery. Seems suitable.”
“I never told them how I found the place. They still think it was an accident. All the proof says it was an accident!”
“You don’t seemed pleased.”
“I don’t want to be awarded for something I can never tell them the truth about!”
“Then don’t accept it, Susan. It’s that simple, right?”
“The thing’s already been cast!”
“Give it to someone else, then. You weren’t the only one who saved the Sophocles.”
“I guess I could do that. I don’t really have the face for publicity.” Ivanova’s fingers traced the scars on her face, both new and old. “Lyta, what are those broken bits on the table?"
Lyta scooped up some of the fragments into her palm and passed them to Susan. “The remnants of the surveillance devices that were planted here. I smashed eight before the first hour was up. Worked wonders for cooling my temper off.”
“Who’d try to SPY on you?”
Lyta gave her a withering glance.
“Ok, let’s shorten the list. Who wouldn’t?”
“I left the ‘official’ cameras, visual only, the ones the hotel had installed a long time ago for security, watching the front and side doors, and the ones watching the balcony doors. They’ve already caught several trespassers who almost made it all the way in. Reporters, mostly, all hoping to get a story from us before the official press conference tonight. Bah!”
“I saw the crowd waiting just outside the Hotel’s main lobby. And all the other entrances, I had to fend a few off to get inside. They’re gonna be pissed when they figure out you’ve already picked who gets the first question,” Susan grinned.
“Not as mad as they’ll get if they figure out why the conference was held back until the second evening.”
“Giving time for Doug Myersal to arrive?”
Lyta nodded, smiling. “The trip from Minbar isn't a long one, but he had to gather his recording equipment - and courage - before coming. He got here about an hour ago. He’s in a room a floor down, reading Ruth’s letters from their time apart. She was only able to have a few standing verbal messages passed on, since she wasn't able to physically meet with the White Stars that visited. I let him read the first few month's worth sitting in the same chair you’re using right now. There might be damp patches from his tears, still.”
Susan shook her head. “It’s getting late, have you eaten dinner yet? For that matter, did you remember lunch? I know how forgetful you can be when it comes to meals.”
“No to both.”
“Lyta!”
“I’m just not hungry. Everything here tastes like chemicals, almost as bad as the rehydrated junk Earthforce sent to keep everyone fed on the trip.”
“There are markets all over the place, with stuff from people’s gardens. It might taste better, you could go and - oh. No, you can’t leave yet, not without being mobbed again.”
“It was an unpleasant reminder of Delenn’s wish to get me a bodyguard. Her actual request was to allow several. Full time. Plus additional ones for when I - or the other delegates - attend functions.”
“I know, I heard your response! With luck, David didn’t hear it and start repeating certain phrases. You could have been kinder.”
“I was civil enough for my mood, and gave the ritual apology in advance. I have had guards before, Susan. They will not be welcome into my life again. I can defend myself.”
“But if someone shoots at you and missed, and others got hurt?”
“That was her main argument. Put guards on me to protect others. Like I was a criminal!”
“It would be a lot easier to let a hired man in body armor take a blast, and recover, then to have *you* blast people telepathically. A hell of a lot easier to explain, too.”
“I - don’t - want - any - bodyguards. End of story! I don’t want to let anyone risk themselves for a paycheque, and I sure as hell DON’T want anyone I don’t know so close to me physically! They’d have to practically live with me.”
“Oh come on, it won’t be that bad-”
“WHY do you THINK they issued me a suite with THREE bedrooms?!? Me, nightshift, and dayshift. And I STILL wouldn’t be allowed to go out and walk around! I hate being penned in like this, Susan. Even food animals are treated better!”
“Well, after I got away from the doors, few reporters bothered me. Want me to go find some ‘real’ ingredients you can put together? I miss being able to barter. It was a good chance to practice arguing . . . I saw some decent corn on the cob earlier . . . ”
“If you want. I have other things to worry about.” Lyta slumped back and glowered at the walls for a few moments. “But thank you,” she added softly.
Susan nodded, then picked up her jacket to leave for her own room. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, maybe less. I need to see if Gray's parents have returned my call yet, figure out what to say to them. But I won't be too long, I want you to be done eating before the press conference.”
Lyta nodded dismally, and watched her leave. She had many things to consider. [I suppose the biggest concern is the Q-40. I still haven’t figured out what would be the best way to filter it into the market. If ever a rumour got out about such a strong supply . . . I felt two ship being destroyed by the vortex already, during the journey here. I don’t know what *I* would feel emotionally if more raiders died. People are still people, no matter how low they have fallen, no matter whether or not they are capable of hearing the music. They don’t deserve to die.]
[Think about the mission. Don’t think about him.]
[At least some parts of our work are simple. The other trade materials are public knowledge. We are no longer perceived as beggars. We are not considered rich, either, just lucky. It is a fair compromise.]
[Don’t think about him! Think about the mission!]
[Humbug to it all. Why did I EVER agree to oversee this project?]
She knew the question was completely rhetorical. [Because without me, some of the others would have already gone mad from the silence. The screaming of electronics is a poor replacement for the orchestra of my home.] The normals who came were doing well, with nothing more than homesickness. The latents, such as Ivanova, were coping with only a few joinings with Lyta and with each other. But the few others who were active telepaths needed a daily session with her, if only a brief one, to feel the music playing again. They would have to return when Lyta did, and Lyta would have turned around and fled that very second if she had the choice. [I have to be strong. My people need me,] she reminded herself again. [This trade mission is critical for the long-term success of my home.]
Sighing, she reached over and pulled a fat book into her lap, one of several that listed items to try to obtain. [Think about the mission. Don’t think about him. Think about the mission. Worrying won’t help anything. And sit still! You’re *not* going to start pacing again.]
Lyta managed to concentrate for almost a full minute before her errant mind went off on it’s own course again. [I sent the message while still in hyperspace, almost 3 days ago. If he wanted to come, he might have arrived starting a few hours ago. It all depends on how fast he could get a leave, the ship’s speed, and . . . and whether or not he actually decided to come.]
She hadn't heard news from him since the note he left her, now safely tucked in her front jacket pocket, hanging in a locked closet in her new bedroom that was larger then her entire former apartment had been. He might be married with a whole handful of kids. He might be dead.
He might have changed his mind.
She didn't know, and was too afraid to do a scan of the area - or of Susan - to check for herself.
The communit chirped at her, the unfamiliar sound startling her into wakefulness. Shoving the book aside, she stood up and answered, "yes?"
[It feels foolish to talk to the wall.]
"Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but there's an Alliance Officer who says he is expected. Shall I send him up to your suite?" The face on the screen explained the intrusion.
[He did come!] She thought excitedly, hoping for the best. "Tell him I await his arrival," she replied with a polite smile.
The clerk nodded and cut the channel.
Lyta sucked in her breath through gritted teeth, glancing at the mirror. Another oddity, having polished glass to reflect in instead of another's viewpoint. Both more and less biased, she wasn't sure she liked having mirrors around again. She looked all right, but wished for a way to magically repair the scar on her neck and back in a few seconds. She'd decided on the trip here to leave it for a few more months while it healed all the way, a memory for others to see that the road she took to earn freedom for telepaths wasn't an easy one. Her dress was long and plain, unwrinkled despite the dry air, and it fit her curves well even with the two kilos she had re-lost in the past few weeks. It covered almost all her skin, as well, as much to help hide her marred body as to keep a layer between herself and a normal's leaky touch. Her hair was neatly braided back, with a blue ribbon winding through it that matched the colour of her dress and shoes. A white silk scarf, newly bought, circled her neck; but it wasn’t wide enough to hide the portion of scar near her ear any more then it could cover the inch or so exposed along her back. [At least I won’t be considered ‘quaint’. It will have to do,] she thought. Then, [stop it! Your appearance is not that important. No. It is. I have to take care of myself, not just the others. *I* am important, not just the mission.]
The door [door! Did I really live in such mistrust before? Did I really think that sealing yourself away was normal? There are so many other people out there . . . well . . . not up here, on the top floor.] chimed at her. She gulped, steeling her nerves. [This was the reason I'd really wanted to come back, wasn't it?] Butterflies were juggling chainsaws in her stomach.
"Come," she called.
It was him. It took a moment for her to realise it was him, since he wasn't in uniform. She'd never seen him in civilian clothes before. He'd paused just at the threshold, staring, before he came in enough for the door to seal behind him.
"Hello, Zack." She smiled shyly.
~~~~
(The End!)