Thirdspace, p.19
Thirdspace, page 19
It was dim, just as everyplace else on the station, the only illumination provided by limited emergency lighting and occasionally sparking equipment. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and that was when she saw the body.
It was slumped over a console, and after a few seconds' observation she was reasonably sure that it wasn't someone trying to catch her off guard. This was definitely a dead individual. She reached over and pulled on the corpse's shoulder. It slumped back and Bill Morishi's lifeless eyes stared up at her in what seemed a rather accusatory fashion.
It certainly wasn't the first dead body that Ivanova had ever seen, but it wasn't as if this sort of experience got any easier through repeated exposure. It was still too dim for her to make out clearly just what had happened to Morishi. Then she sensed, rather than saw, a movement off to one side of the room. She whirled, her gun levelled, as someone separated from the shadows and stepped out to face her. She let out a low and unsteady breath of relief when she saw it was Dr. Trent.
Trent, who had been in the room longer and had already
fully adjusted her sight to the dimness, said with relief, "Sorry...
There's been so much going on, everyone's acting so strangely. I had to make sure it was you."
Nodding in understanding, Ivanova indicated Morishi's body. "What happened to him?"
Trent looked down sadly at Morishi's unmoving form. "He saw your Starfuries coming at the artifact," she said, sounding extremely unhappy about the situation. "He was going to interfere. I think the device took control of him somehow. I stopped him ... and he ..." She paused, apparently finding it difficult to get the words out. "... came for me.... I shot him. There was no other way." Clearly there was a deep need for sympathy registering in her voice, and Ivanova nodded again. She could hardly condemn the woman for taking a life in self-defense, and for the purpose of endeavoring to save the lives of Starfury pilots.
"It's been happening all over the station," Ivanova confirmed briskly. She felt that the best way to take Trent's mind off the horror of what had just occurred was to simply progress to the next situation as crisply and efficiently as she could. Don't give Trent time to think about what had happened, since it might depress her or even immobilize her mentally, maybe even physically. Ivanova continued, "The device is using some kind of telepathic signal to control people, use them to keep us from shutting it down."
Looking over the consoles, she was starting to revise her gut instinct. There had been a struggle all right, but she was beginning to see signs that there had been some incidental destruction performed simply for the hell of it. As if someone had decided deliberately to complete something that had been started accidentally. She turned back and said, "Looks like they're doing a pretty good job of it. Listen, the captain needs to know what you found out about the artifact, anything at all that can help."
"Doesn't he have any ideas of his own?" asked Trent with unmistakable disdain.
"A few," Ivanova told her, trying to cover her annoyance over Trent's snotty attitude. Ivanova had to cut her some slack, after all, considering everything that was going on.
The kid-glove treatment, however, didn't appear to be mellowing Dr. Trent. Instead she said in annoyance, "Weii, J can't exactly advise you if I don't know what you have in mind."
Ivanova began, "I..." but then she was interrupted by a beep from her comlink. She brought it up and tapped it. "Ivanova."
Over the link came Sheridan's voice. There was a slight breathlessness to it, which indicated to Ivanova that he was in motion, probably running. "I'm on my way to Bay Nine," he informed her. "Scramble everybody you can, get them out. De-lenn's bringing in the Minbari cruisers, but I'll need you to command the White Stars."
In surprise, Ivanova said, "Me? So what're you going to be doing while I'm..."
Then her voice trailed off as she noticed something... something about Morishi that set off alarms in her head. Burn marks, the kind that were characteristic of being on the receiving end of a PPG discharge. On the back of his uniform. She saw the smoldered edges of cloth, and it took her a moment to register that Sheridan was saying repeatedly, "Susan?"
"Stand by," she responded, toggling off the comlink before Sheridan could get another word out.
Slowly she turned and faced Trent, who was standing there with almost unnatural calm, her arms folded across her chest. "You said you shot him when he was coming toward you?" Ivanova asked, doing everything she could to make it sound like the most incidental, nonthreatening question in the world.
"That's right," confirmed Trent.
"Then why," she asked, now with the tone of someone who already knew the answer, "is the PPG burn on the back of his jumpsuit, not the front?"
The moment seemed to hang there in time, stretching out into infinity.
And then a PPG appeared in Trent's hand, as if by magic.
Anyone trained in the art of combat will state that the absolute last thing one should try to do is endeavor to kick a gun out of someone's hand. A kick, of necessity, is telegraphed, and the hand needs only a fraction of a second to get out of the way. Any attempt to knock a gun away from an assailant will usually result in the gun subsequently discharging-with lethal results.
The best bet, when faced with a gun, is usually to put up one's hands, do what the assailant wants, and hope for a later opportunity. Failing that, one should launch an attack to the head or the upper chest in hopes of sending the blast off target, or even at the legs in an endeavor to knock the assailant backward.
Ivanova wasn't a black belt, but she was more than capable of holding her own in a fight, had a good degree of training, and knew the basics and beyond. In a quarter of a second she decided-quite correctly-that putting up her hands wouldn't do her a damn bit of good. Trent had already killed once and wasn't intending to listen to reason. Clearly her reason had been destroyed by the artifact. Ivanova's only chance, as negligible as that was, was to attack. In accordance with the best rules of self-defense, she swung her leg around as fast as she could, aiming squarely for Trent's solar plexus.
At the split instant she did so, Trent took a step back, angling her body away and bringing the gun up for the purpose of giving Ivanova a PPG burn on her front that would match the burn mark on Morishi's back.
Consequently, Ivanova missed Trent's upper torso entirely.
Instead she kicked the gun out of Trent's hand.
It clattered to the floor some feet away, and Ivanova could scarcely believe her luck. She did not, however, have time to dwell on it overmuch, for Trent came right at her.
Ivanova was astounded at what she was facing, because Trent was displaying an impressive martial arts array. The scientist advanced on Ivanova with a barrage of arm and leg moves, and it took every bit of training Ivanova possessed in order to block them. A wildness had sprung up in Trent's eyes, a crazed determination to knock Ivanova's head off her shoulders. She wasn't at all recognizable as the sedate, if somewhat annoying, scientist who had arrived on the station only days ago.
She slipped in under Ivanova's guard and landed a shot in the gut. Ivanova doubled over and Trent's foot lashed upward. If it connected, it would have put her down for good, but Ivanova knocked it aside with a sweep of her forearm. The upward motion was completed, and for just a moment Trent was caught with her center off balance.
Ivanova took that moment to slam her hands upward into Trent's upraised knee. Trent was knocked flat on her back, and before she could get to her feet, Ivanova swung a most un-karate-like, but nonetheless extremely effective, right cross that caught Trent squarely on the jaw. Trent slumped back, her eyes rolling into the top of her head. Her eyelids fluttered once as consciousness left her.
Bone on bone. Stupid stupid stupid, Ivanova scolded herself as she shook out her fingers. It had provided her momentary satisfaction, but her knuckles were going to be swelling up by the next day.
The next day. Damn, that was overly optimistic of her.
She toggled the comlink back on and said, "Captain ..."
"Susan, what happened?" came Sheridan's concerned voice.
"Doctor Trent turned into one of the pod creatures," she informed him. "She killed Morishi, and was looking to make it two for two."
"My God. Are you hurt?"
She flexed her hand. "Only as hurt as I deserve to be," she said in annoyance. "I'm on my way to the launch bays."
"Good luck, and watch your back," said Sheridan, and the link clicked off.
But Ivanova wasn't finished. She toggled her link back on line and said, "Ivanova to C&C."
"On line," came the brisk response from the omnipresent Corwin. "Notify Security that I need an arrest team in Dr. Trent's office ASAP."
"Confirmed. There's ... something else, Commander," said Corwin. Ivanova braced herself. As if there wasn't enough going on at the moment. Corwin continued, "We estimate two hours until the energy drain leaves us dead in space."
She rolled her eyes. A half dozen words immediately came to mind, but due to the high stress level of the moment, she setded for the least inflammatory one she could think of. "Nuts," she said. But she couldn't allow herself to go off track. She had enough problems to deal with at that moment. "All right, prepare fighters for launch," she snapped off orders. "Call in every White Star in the area. We're going out there."
Corwin blinked in surprise when he heard that. "We are?" he asked, but then he realized that she'd cut off the corn-link connection. In retrospect, that was probably a fortunate thing. Ivanova might have taken the off-the-cuff comment the wrong way.
Sure, there was an alien artifact, and sure, people aboard the station were turning into violence-crazed goons, and sure, bizarre ships had emerged and seemed to be preparing for some further onslaught.
But Ivanova made him really nervous.
Then chatter started to come in through C&C's com systems. The Starfury pilots were seeking guidance as to what their next move should be, particularly considering that the artifact not only seemed invulnerable to attack, but its defenders had easily dispatched the entirety of Delta Squadron with one shot.
Corwin-who, perversely, found himself wishing that Ivanova, of all people, were running things right about then-got on line and said briskly, "Hold position. Repeat, hold position, we've got reinforcements on the way."
The voice of one of the Starfury pilots said, "They'd better get here soon.... I don't know what's going to come out of that thing next, but I'd bet good money it's a hell of a lot bigger than we are."
From his vantage point in C&C, Corwin stared through the observation window at the artifact. He fancied that he could see a chaotic, swirling darkness within, but he couldn't discern just what that darkness might be composed of, and he was absolutely positive that there was something still deeper within, hiding, waiting ...
... waiting, but not for much longer.
In the heart of darkness, we prepare.
Around us, black stars glisten in ebony beauty against the greyness of space. Every so often, inky lightning crackles across the tenebrous skies, as if to herald our arrival.
We are many. We are many who serve the One. There are hundreds of us, so many we appear from a distance as if we are a cloud wafting across the heavens.
We are a thing of beauty, such beauty as none in the other realm have seen for more years than any of their little minds can conceive.
We know their minds. We have entered them, caressed them, loved them, seduced them to our cause. They are our lovers and serve us eagerly, and all we have had to do is give them a glimpse, the slightest, most tantalizing taste, of all that we are. They hunger for it. They hunger for us.
And we will sate that hunger shortly before we obliterate them. We are coming. We come for you.
Chapter 16
Zack Allan couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
He was taking a moment to aid one of his teams in hauling several struggling people to one of the holding facilities ... facilities which were already becoming choked with people. Aside from Security personnel, no one in his right mind was out and about. But there, coming from the other direction down the corridor, were Delenn and Lennier. "What are you two doing running around!" said Zack. The head of Security certainly looked as if he'd been in a fight: A couple of large bruises were already beginning to swell up under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, and a piece of it appeared to have been torn right out of his scalp. His lower lip was split and there were hints of dried blood under his nose. "Have you got any idea what's going on around here?"
"We must get to the docking bays," Lennier said.
"We're locked down throughout the station! You should be in your quarters!"
"Captain's orders," Delenn told him flatly, realizing that extensive discussion was only going to eat up valuable minutes.
Zack seemed about to debate the issue, but realized that there wasn't time. "You need an escort to protect you?" he asked.
"I am fully capable of handling any threats to Delenn," Lennier informed him, not without a touch of pride.
"Yeah. Yeah, I bet you are," Zack said after a moment. Then he was almost yanked off his feet by one of the struggling prisoners they were escorting. "Hang a right and then another left!" he told them. "Slightly longer way around to the docking bays, but the route should be clear!"
"Thank you," Delenn called after him, but she suspected that he hadn't really heard her, occupied as he was by other matters-including not allowing the people they were escorting to strike him.
She and Lennier headed down the corridors that Zack had recommended. "The cruisers should arrive within three minutes," she said. "And the White Stars within two."
"That is exceptionally fast," Lennier commented.
"Not really. I've been keeping them on standby ever since the break from Earth, in the event that President Clark might make a direct assault upon Babylon 5. My personal flyer... ?"
"Is prepped and ready," he told her. Then they slowed as they heard running feet coming from the other direction. Before she was even aware he was doing it, Lennier had pushed Delenn behind himself and taken up a defensive stance. Seconds later, the owner of the hurried tread came around the corner. Delenn let out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was Ivanova, but Lennier did not let his guard down for even a moment. His head was cocked slightly and it was clear he was waiting to see if Ivanova had become "one of them."
"Oh, good," Ivanova said. "I was worried about how you were going to get down here. I'm going to grab a shuttle up to one of the White Stars soon as they arrive, and I figure you'll..." But then she noticed the way that Lennier was looking at her. "What?" she said in irritation. "What is it?"
"How do we know you are ... you?" Lennier demanded.
"Lennier, this is not a good time..."
He didn't budge from his defensive posture. "Lennier," Ivanova said in a flat tone, "remember when I put curlers in Delenn's hair? Well, your caution and everything is noted and maybe even appropriate, but I swear to God, if you dorft stop standing there like a spastic ballet dancer, holding things up, I'm going to put curlers on your bone and twist it into a pretzel. Do we understand each other?"
Lennier and Delenn glanced at each other and said, in unison, "That's Ivanova." He lowered his guard and she walked over to them, again moving briskly. "Why are you coming this way? The bay is..."
"Mr. Allan said this way was clearer," Lennier explained.
Ivanova shrugged. "Fine. Down this way then, and..."
That was when they heard screaming. They turned as one, and saw a frantic woman dashing down the hallway. There was blood smeared on the front of her blouse, and there was incoherent terror in her eyes.
Ivanova caught her by the shoulders. Reflexively the woman tried to pull away, still screaming, and it took a moment for her attention to focus on Ivanova.
"You should be in your quarters!" Ivanova told her.
"He killed him! He killed Al! And Leo is after me! He's trying to kill me too!"
"We don't have time for this," muttered Ivanova as she toggled her comlink. "Ivanova to Security."
Nothing.
"Ivanova to Security."
Still nothing. For a moment there was a brief crackle over the channel, but then it went silent again.
"Oh, terrific," she said. "Now the com system is down. Look, lady," she began to say, "we've got to go ..."
"Don't leave me!" she practically screamed. "Don't leave me! Al is dead! Or dying! There was blood all over, and Leo, he..."
Ivanova was right: they had no time to deal with the hysterical woman, and Delenn knew it. "Lennier," she said. "Attend to her."
"But you..." he began to protest.
She shook her head. "I will be fine. The docking bays are just ahead, Susan is with me, and despite your concerns for me, I am not completely incapable of fending for myself. See to this woman. Find Security, and protect her from this 'Leo' until such time that she is secure. Bring her to my quarters for safekeeping, if necessary."
Lennier was about to protest, but he saw the determination in her eyes and knew there was no point in debating Delenn when she was so clearly set on a particular course of action. "Very well," he said.
Ivanova gently prodded the woman in Lennier's direction. She looked at him apprehensively, and probably wasn't even aware that her hand had been placed in his. "Wait!" she said nervously, but Delenn and Ivanova were already on their way, leaving her in the capable hands of the young Minbari.
"I am Lennier," he said, by way of trying to calm her.
He waited expectantly for her to reply, but she didn't, at least not immediately. After a moment, though, she developed enough presence of mind to say, "Sheila."
"Sheila," he repeated, pronouncing carefully the new name. He started to walk with her, gently urging her along. "First I will bring you to a safe haven. Then I will see to ... to Al."
