And there was something else, as well, on his mind. Something he was quite certain hadn't been there before. The kind of feeling one gets when one hears the scuttling of small, clawed feet in the darkness, but can't make out exactly where the vermin might be. You know you're surrounded ... but you don't know where the threat actually is.

  "What are you doing around here, Deuce?" a familiar voice said from behind him.

  He turned to see Zack Allan, the Babylon 5 chief of security, looming over him, his arms folded.

  "Got a right to be wherever I want," Deuce told him.

  "Not arguing that, Deuce," Zack replied easily. "It's just unusual to see you around these parts. You got something going? Hmm? Some scam in the hopper?" "Just being where I need to be, Allan," Deuce told him. His arms were folded and he was rubbing his upper arms. "Leave me alone. And you could do something about fixing the temperature. It's freezing around here." And with that he headed off down the corridor.

  Zack watched him go, wondering what it was that Deuce was up to... and wondering why the little worm was claiming that it was cold when it felt perfectly fine to Zack.

  Chapter 6

  Vir shifted uncomfortably in his chair for what seemed the twentieth time as Sheridan and Delenn sat across from him in the conference room, radiating what appeared to be boundless patience.

  This was the second time in as many days that Vir had met with them on behalf of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. The League had been ecstatic with the way in which he had "handled" the previous concerns, and the feeling was unanimous among League representatives that Vir was the one to bring their latest concerns to Sheridan. Vir, for his part, could only find characteristically bleak amusement in the notion that, even when he was successful, it only resulted in more aggravation.

  "-so you'll understand," he said apologetically, "if this is a little awkward for me, but with Londo back home, things kind of fall to me. Besides, any time it comes to financial matters, the League always expects the Centauri to speak on their behalf, so..."

  "It's all right, Vir," Sheridan said consolingly. "What is it?"

  Vir took a deep breath and said, "The... artifact you brought back from hyperspace. The others would like to know what it is."

  Sheridan said, "Then we have something in common. We'd like to know that for ourselves. But it'll take us awhile to figure that out. All we know is that it's very old. What it is, what it does, your guess is as good as mine." Vir bobbed his head, taking it all in. There was always the chance that Sheridan was withholding information, but he seriously doubted that was the case. Sheridan ran the station, after all. He could just as easily have said, "We know what it is, but it's classified. Sorry." And that would have been that. It would have been slightly more confrontational, but John Sheridan was not noted as someone who had problems with confrontations.

  "In that case," asked Vir, "can they take part in examining the artifact?"

  Sheridan shook his head. "Not at this time, no."

  Obviously, that had not been the answer that Vir was hoping for, but before he could follow up, Delenn said, "Vir, we understand their interest. The race that created this artifact must have been extremely advanced, and there may be some valuable technology inside. But if everyone starts pulling at it at once, nothing will get done."

  Sheridan nodded in agreement. "Delenn and I discussed this earlier, and we agreed that anything we find will be shared with everyone in the League of Non-Aligned Worlds." Vir began to talk quickly in that way he had when he felt really nervous about what he was going to say. "That's all well and good, because you trust him," he said to Delenn, and he turned to Sheridan and said, "and you trust her," and then he motioned his arms to encompass the entire room. "And I trust both of you.... I'm the trusting sort, always have been, ever since I was ..." He motioned towards the floor to indicate a young age, and then realized that-as he was wont to do-he was going a bit off track. With effort he brought himself back to the matter at hand. "But the others don't trust anyone when it comes to money."

  "Would you like me to speak to them?" Delenn asked.

  Vir sighed. "Speaking is not the problem; listening, that's the problem. Still, I'll see what I can do." Vir rose from the table, bobbing his head in automatic deference, and then he headed out. It sounded to Sheridan as if Vir was talking softly to himself, rehearsing whatever it was he was going to say to the members of the League.

  "Perhaps Vir is right," admitted Delenn. "No matter how much we reassure them, the other races are always going to think we're holding something back."

  "I know ... but we can't take the chance." He rose, tapping the table with the knuckle of his forefinger. "You know as well as I do that they'll just start grabbing stuff up as soon as they get there." Sheridan was trying to find a way around it, thinking out loud, but he didn't like the answers he was coming up with. "And if they think someone else will get some new weapon before they can, they'll sabotage it, blow it up." He shook his head. "No, there's no other way."

  But Delenn wasn't quite as quick to dismiss the notion as Sheridan. "They may have resources that could be useful. Babylon Five is a diplomatic station, a free port, not a research facility. We have no archaeologists, no experts in alien technology..."

  "I know. So, it'll take us a little longer, that's all. But we'll get there."

  She approached him with a knowing smile. He saw the expression on her face, and he found it just a bit disconcerting that she knew him so well. It was as if he had a small window in his forehead that she was able to peer through and see exactly what was going through his mind. "May I assume," she said in a tone that was gently teasing, "that this has nothing to do with you wanting to be first to unlock whatever secrets this thing brings with it?"

  "Me?" Sheridan said with as much indignation as he could muster. "When have you ever known me to have a personal agenda?"

  And now Delenn made no effort at all to hide her amusement, as she pressed her advantage. "John ... any time something comes into our proximity that has to do with the unknown, your eyes light up like two tiny suns. And do you know what these tiny lights spell out?"

  In spite of himself, he was curious. "What?"

  "Mine," she said with a voice like an impatient ten-year-old, and continued in a faster and even more childish voice, "Mine, mine, mine, mine."

  Sheridan said, "That's a lie."

  "Minbari do not lie," she told him archly.

  "Then it's slander." She shook her head. "To be slander, it must be false. That's two down."

  "Then it's ... it's ..." He racked his brains for something that best summarized what was going through his mind. Finally, although he hated to settle on it, he reluctantly admitted, "it's ... damned inconvenient."

  "The truth always is." And with that, she smiled and kissed him with tenderness before heading out of the room. He stared after her.

  He knew that she had said these things with love and genuine affection. There had been no heat, no scolding in her tone. But still... he didn't particularly like the way he came across in that description. He sounded almost petulant, grabby, like a child who snatched things for himself and wouldn't share. Was that really an accurate depiction of him?

  He turned to the monitor and activated it. The artifact appeared on the screen, huge and mysterious and perhaps utterly unknowable.

  Perhaps, he realized, he should be making more of an effort to open up the exploration of the artifact to other worlds. Perhaps he should be welcoming their participation. Perhaps ...

  He stared at it, and imagined dozens of ships from all different races clambering all over the thing, each trying to carve out its own little piece or trying to figure out a way to activate it or use it in some self-serving manner.

  The hell with it, he decided. If he was going to err, let it be on the side of caution. If there were secrets to be discovered, let him be the first to uncover them. Loose lips sink ships. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Finders keepers. All the cliches tumbled over in his head.

  "Besides," he muttered to himself with undeniable smugness, and apparently forgetting who had actually found the damned thing, "... it is mine."

  Zack Allan, hanging back at first as the Starfuries and worker 'bots flitted around the artifact, was reminded of an occasion in his own youth. Zack had grown up very much in a city environment, but one summer he'd gone to visit a favorite uncle in the country. During that visit young Zack had been wandering about in the forest, and he'd come upon the fairly disgusting sight of a dead possum enveloped by various crawling and flying insects, swarming over it and devouring it. The stench was appreciable, and he could hear a humming in the air as the flying creatures went about their business. There was no stench in space, of course, nor were the Star-furies making any particular sound in the airlessness of the inky vacuum. But it reminded him of that occasion nevertheless. And he couldn't help but wonder if the tiny creatures swarming around the large one had any true understanding of what it was they were busily invading. They probably didn't know or comprehend it beyond its ability to fulfill their immediate needs and desires.

  For all their technology, for all their alleged sophistication and learning, Zack couldn't help but feel as if the Babylon 5 personnel were no different from those bugs, buzzing around that which they couldn't even begin to grasp.

  And what if that possum had suddenly flared back to life?

  What if it had, in fact, been playing possum, to draw them in so that suddenly he could up and start eating the bugs that had thought him dead? And what if the artifact itself were likewise playing possum? Did they have any way of knowing? Would they have any warning at all? Or would it simply come roaring to life and obliterate them before they knew what was happening? It wasn't a pleasant happenstance to dwell upon.

  With all of that going through his mind, Zack still couldn't help but draw closer to the artifact. He bleakly considered the notion that, instead of hailing other pilots in the normal manner, he should instead send a communique directly to the artifact, a message that would say, "Moth to flame, moth to flame... burn me up. Over."

  But the flame-or the artifact, in this case-didn't seem likely to respond in any event. It just sat there, and Zack drew closer and closer to it.

  He felt his attitude slowly starting to change, and that alone was somewhat disconcerting. He liked being suspicious; it was comforting to him. The last thing he needed now was to feel awe for the thing, but unfortunately that's exactly what was going through his mind. He was awestruck by the thing. He consoled himself with the concept that, once upon a time, if Humans had come into contact with something they didn't understand, their gut instinct had been to blast it out of existence on the off-chance it might be a threat. But Humankind had grown, developed beyond those primitive impulses.

  In point of fact, if Humankind were a bit more driven by those same primitive impulses, the disaster which was in the process of unfolding might well have been averted. Such, however, was not to be the case.

  Zack drew within yards of the surface of the artifact, and he could make out some sort of bizarre hieroglyphs covering the surface. For one crazy moment he actually tried to figure out what they meant until he realized that he was way over his head. But then he noticed something that was most definitely well within his realm: some part of the artifact looked as if it'd been carbon scored by some sort of weapon's fire. Heaven knew he'd seen enough of that kind of damage to know it on sight. Furthermore, some other parts of the artifact looked unfinished somehow.

  An entire scenario was beginning to suggest itself to him. Perhaps someone had been in the process of building the thing... and someone else hadn't wanted it finished. Perhaps there had been some sort of war. Perhaps the thing had been disabled before it could be brought on line. Perhaps ...

  Perhaps, he thought bleakly to himself, he should stick to being head of security, and allow people with a track record and tons of savvy to figure out what was really going on with this stuff. Still, there was no harm in making his observations known.

  He toggled the comm system and said, "Investigation team, this is Security. I'm making out signs of weapons fire on the outside of this... whatever it is. Suggest you proceed with caution. Place could be rigged with booby traps, bombs, auto-defense systems... anything." After a moment's thought more, he added, "Until we know what this is and where it came from, we have to consider it a definite potential threat to security." He was stating the obvious, but it bore repeating, nonetheless.

  One of the pilots replied, "Team One to Security, we'll be careful." Then he paused a moment, as if trying to give voice to sentiments he was having trouble articulating. Clearly feeling that he wasn't expressing more than a fraction of what he was feeling, he added, "It's beautiful, though."

  That was exactly what Zack didn't need to hear. He could discern what seemed to be a sense of wonderment in the tone of the pilot. That did not sit well with Zack at all. He knew how easy it was to be seduced by the alienness of the artifact, but they couldn't take any chances of letting themselves be carried away. Zack said, "Yeah, it is that... but so's a cobra. So be damned careful. I don't want anyone to get bit."

  It was as if Zack had tossed a healthy dose of cold water on the pilot... or at least, that's what Zack very much wanted to believe as he heard the pilot speak again, as if shaking off something that was going through his mind. "Understood," said the pilot. "Okay, everybody stand by. Move to prescribed safe distance. Sending in a maintbot to take a surface sample."

  Zack monitored his instrumentation carefully, and also- bottom line-kept a very close eye on the maintenance 'bot as it angled toward the surface of the artifact. The 'bot, for its part, didn't have to deal with such trivialities as conflicted feelings, uncertainty, or an awe-filled sense of wonder as it drew nearer the mysterious artifact. It simply had a job to do, and had every intention of doing it. That was the beginning, middle, and end of the 'bot's nonexistent opinion on the subject.

  As the 'bot drew closer to the artifact, a sampler extended from its body. It drew to within the programmed distance and proceeded to take scrapings off the artifact's skin. If it had been Human, the 'bot probably would have been whistling an aimless tune as it went about what was basically mindless work.

  What it did not, could not, notice was that the hieroglyphs on the artifact had begun to glow the moment the sampler came into contact with it.

  Zack, however, noticed it immediately. His eyebrows furrowed as, at first, he tried to determine whether it was just some sort of optical illusion. Perhaps the artifact, which was drifting ever-so-slightly in space, had picked up a reflection from B5's marker lights or even a distant star. But even as he realized that such was not the case-that the glow was being generated somehow by the artifact itself-one of the Starfury pilots sent a terse message.

  "Stand by ... we've got a problem," he informed Zack.

  Obviously, this was not what Zack wanted or needed to hear.

  "What kind of problem?" When there was no immediate response, he urged, "Talk to me."

  Zack became alert for some sort of possible distress when the pilot did not reply immediately, but it quickly became evident that he was simply assessing the situation fully before relaying any information to Allan. "Registering a fifteen percent drop in the 'bot's power supply," the pilot said at last. Before he could offer any sort of explanation, he amended, "Twenty percent...," and then, in unrestrained astonishment, "Fifty ..."

  "Move it away!" Zack ordered. He was surprised at the urgency in his voice. It wasn't as if a Human were endangered. Nonetheless, there was something about the entire situation that was seriously creeping him out. "Pull it back!"

  There was a pause as the pilot obviously tried to comply with the order, and then the pilot said, "Not responding." Unable to fully believe what his instruments were telling him, he added, "Eighty percent." And before Zack could think of anything that anyone could do, the pilot announced, "It's dead."

  And so are we.

  It was Zack's first, gut reaction. Intellectually, he knew that there was no reason for him to feel that way. This was probably just some sort of bizarre mechanical glitch, easily explained and not very ominous at all.

  The problem was, Zack wasn't a particularly intellectual guy. His gut was what he tended to go with, and more often than not, his gut reaction was the correct one. The 'bot was dead. And so are we forced its way into his consciousness and wouldn't take its leave of him, no matter how much he wanted it to.

  Stacy Soto, head robotics technician on Babylon 5, didn't like being in a position where she didn't have the answers at her fingertips. That was what had drawn her to robotics. Robots were simple, straightforward tools. Either they worked or they didn't, and if they didn't work, then determining the whys and wherefores was simply a matter of technology and dogged determination. But now Soto was faced with a mystery, namely her total inability to get up and running again the 'bot that had been incapacitated by the artifact. Nor did Soto know precisely why such a breakdown could have occurred to begin with. If there was one thing that she found extremely off-putting, it was a mystery. And never more so than when she was being questioned by the top brass of the station.

  Soto didn't allow her annoyance to show through, however. She was far too professional for that. Instead-as she moved through the cargo bay accompanied by Ivanova, Allan, and Sheridan-she said, with her considerable technical skill and unflappable demeanor, "We still don't have a lot to go on, but it looks as if the device drained every last milliwatt of power from the 'bot. We can't even recharge it; we've tried three times, and the charge doesn't stick."

  Ivanova was clearly puzzled. "So why didn't it affect our Starfuries when we pulled it in out of hyperspace?"

  "I don't know," Soto admitted reluctantly. "My guess is that it has to do with the proximity of the power source. You were able to fire grapples at the device from a safe distance. The 'bot and its power source were within just a few feet." Discussing uncertainties made Soto itchy, and she felt the need to terminate the conversation as briskly and efficiently as possible. "I'll let you know when we've finished the rest of our tests," she said with finality, and quickly distanced herself from the others. Her departure left the three of them grouped around the un-moving and basically useless 'bot, which lay there on a table with its mechanical innards scattered all over the place. Robot autopsy 101.

 

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