Babylon 5 07 - The Shadow Within (Cavelos, Jeanne)

by The Shadow Within (Cavelos, Jeanne)

  "I need copies of your notes and records so far."

  She nodded and opened up her computer, downloading the files onto a data crystal. Chang knew she kept all her preliminary notes on her own system. He even knew her password. He could easily have retrieved them if he'd wanted to, even confiscated her computer so she wouldn't have access to the information. He was purposely allowing her to keep her files, to have continued access. She laid the crystal in his callused palm.

  "I think I should c ancel my vacation. I don't feel right about going away now."

  The wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

  "Your vacation. I completely forgot about it. You know what a great people person I am."

  This was an old joke, about a criticism she'd written on a teacher evaluation years and years ago.

  "I don't think I should leave now."

  He took her hand.

  "Yes, you should. That's exactly what you should do. Give things some time to cool off here. Get away from all this craziness. When you come back... we'll see what happens."

  He released her hand. She knew he was holding a lot back, that he was under pressures she could only guess about. But she trusted his advice. She nodded.

  "I'll see you in three weeks."

  He opened the hall door.

  "Get some rest."

  She smiled.

  "I hope not."

  At his hesitation, she wished she hadn't said that. After Chang had left, Anna gathered together her belongings. She closed up her computer and slid it into her carryall. On her desk, neatly centered in the space where her computer had sat, was a long, flat, shriveled piece of mouse. She picked it up and whispered,

  "Thank you, Chang."

  Although the edges were crusty and dried, the center remained soft and elastic. There was a slight dampness on the underside, and she turned it over to find a black, tarry substance. Stealing a glance out into the hall, Anna found a small container for the fragment and packed it quickly into her carryall. She wished her vacation had begun yesterday. But it hadn't, and now Terrence had been hurt, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could at least get some work done on the transport, though. The vacation wouldn't be quite the romantic escape she'd hoped for, not with all this hanging over her head, but maybe John could distract her for a while. It had been a long time. She left IPX behind for what she hoped would be three very distracting weeks.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Sorry I'm late."

  Anna slid into the chair opposite Sheridan and ordered some wine to get rid of the waiter.

  "It's okay. I haven't been here long," Liz said.

  They both smiled. "Liar," Anna said.

  They both knew Liz was compulsively early. They'd known each other since undergraduate days, long before Anna had met Liz's unbelievably sweet brother John, fallen in love, and married him. Anna gazed absently across the restaurant, Terrence's words whispering through her mind in an unending loop. She wondered if he'd been transferred to the Psi Corps facility yet, wondered if they would be able to free him from the feedback loop.

  "You're going to love the food here," Liz said.

  Anna nodded.

  The restaurant was one of Liz's "finds" and allegedly fulfilled all her criteria: tables far enough away from each other for some privacy, relaxing music, a warm ambience-in this case created by a Swiss Chalet motif-and food good enough to eat.

  "Ready for your big anniversary bash?" Liz asked.

  "Any more ready and I'd burst."

  Anna tried to smile, but her face wouldn't cooperate. - "What's wrong?"

  Anna's fist went to her mouth.

  "I screwed up at work. I can't talk about it."

  "You need to get out of that corporate environment. You're freelance. Get out of there and get back to teaching."

  "Maybe you're right."

  Liz raised her chin, her earrings swaying.

  "I know I'm right. Now as of tonight you are officially on vacation. I want you to put all that stuff in the vault and lock it away for three weeks. Think about having some fun. You guys haven't been together for how long?"

  Anna took a long sip of her wine, thinking back.

  "The last time we saw each other for more than three days at once was over a year ago. August, before school started. I don't think I'll even know what to do when I see him."

  Liz smiled. She had the face of a pixie, with a small, pointed chin, high cheekbones, and huge deep eyes.

  "Allow me to jog your memory."

  She brought a box out from under the table and presented it to Anna.

  "Happy anniversary."

  "Oh you didn't. Not again."

  Liz waved her objections away.

  "Allow me my sick fun. I only have one best friend. And one sister-inlaw."

  Anna leaned across the table.

  "I'm not opening it here."

  Liz raised her hands.

  "That's fine. Open it when you see Johnny. It's as much for him as it is for you."

  Anna sighed.

  "What would I do without you?"

  Liz shrugged.

  "Go naked?"

  "As Dr. Chang would say, ''Worse things have happened.'' "

  They giggled a while, and Anna drank more wine, trying to relax. There was nothing she could do now. She needed to be with John, to feel his arms enfolding her, the warmth of his body, the rumble of his voice, the vitality of his presence.

  No matter how long they spent away from each other, her love for him never faded. She felt she truly had found the love they talked about in poems and in ancient alien inscriptions. A universal love. A love without end, a love without borders. She couldn't wait to see him.

  * * *

  John Sheridan wondered if his wife, Anna, was thinking of him right now. He'd noticed that in the years they'd been together, they'd begun to talk alike, and even to think alike-a quality he'd noticed long ago in his parents and grown to love. He couldn't wait to see her. Less than an hour to Station Prime. Another hour to button up the ship, begin leave rotation, hand things over to the technicians. Twenty minutes by shuttle from space dock to the station, twenty more to the hotel, and he would be with her. Unfortunately, that was in two hours and forty minutes, not now. He barked out the words.

  "Are you aware of the proper procedure for bringing the laser cannons to battle alert status, Lieutenant Spano?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Recite the procedure, Lieutenant."

  "Request confirmation of battle alert status from command. On confirmation, the defense grid is activated. Baffles are lowered. Settings are initialized and confirmed. Activators are put on standby. Tracking system is upgraded to targeting mode. Optics are brought on line. Primary ignition is triggered. Laser -"

  "Lieutenant."

  John took a step closer to Spano, his voice rising.

  "What will happen if primary ignition is triggered with tube hatches open?"

  "The laser would fail to fire, sir."

  "That may explain why procedure dictates a check of the tube hatches before primary ignition is triggered."

  Lieutenant Spano held his silence, remaining stiffly at attention in his Earthforce uniform, his hands clenched at his sides. His skin had flushed a deep red, visible even through his blond buzz cut, and his wide nostrils flared with each hard breath. He was a twenty- eight-year-old veteran of the Earth-Minbari War with a huge chip on his shoulder. Although John had not had much direct contact with him since taking command of the Agamemnon, he already knew that Spano didn't like being told anything by anybody.

  Earthforce was the last place he belonged. He seemed a walking embodiment of anger. The muscles in his neck stood out like cables, and his eyes had an opaque, flat quality that was disquieting. John could feel his own face growing just as red as Spano's. This crew had more than its share of slackers, and nothing he did seemed to have any effect.

  "Procedures are created for a reason, Lieutenant, the reason for this one being to ensure the
safety of every soldier aboard this vessel. As a weapons officer, I expect you to know the procedures relating to laser cannons backward and forward, upside down, in your sleep, surrounded by enemy ships, and with my face in your face."

  He stopped, exasperated, then paced a few steps down the line. The four weapons officers stood shoulder to shoulder at attention, the sixteen gunners formed in two ranks behind them, filling the weapons bay.

  "How long have you been a weapons officer, Spano?"

  "Five years."

  "Five years and you don't know the procedure."

  Spano looked ready to burst. John had no idea what was going on in his mind. After almost one month as captain of the Agamemnon, one of the most powerful ships in the fleet, John had made no progress toward melding this crew into a team. He'd run more drills in the last month than he could count, and several sections continued to perform inadequately. Weapons was one. Not good for a destroyer. He'd had the weapons chief speak to the crew under his command. No effect. He'd had his first officer speak to the weapons chief. No effect. So now here he was. So much for delegation.

  He knew he shouldn't encourage excuse-making, but maybe it would help to know what was on Spano's mind. Maybe then John could begin to make some headway here.

  "You have something to say, Lieutenant?"

  "Sir."

  It sounded like a curse.

  "We always leave the tube hatches closed. There's no need to check them. The four of us have been working together for a long time, and we know how to handle things."

  "And that makes you think you can disregard procedure?"

  "Sir, Captain Best never found our work less than satisfactory."

  John's patience reached its limit.

  "And what if one of your fellow weapons officers was servicing the tube when we went to battle alert, or if a gunner was doing main tenance, or one of the weapons officers was sick and had been replaced-then would you remember to follow procedure?"

  John looked down the line, making eye contact with each one of them.

  "Every captain has his own way of running a ship."

  And Captain Best's was, by all the evidence, one of the shoddiest in the fleet.

  "My way is not Captain Best's way. A ship can only operate efficiently if every member of the crew does his job. I want things done by the book, and I want orders followed to the letter. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir," Spano said.

  It was days like this John wished he'd become a professional baseball player. His link chimed. He responded with relief.

  "Sheridan. Go."

  "Captain, we just received a message from General Lochschmanan."

  John recognized the voice of his first officer, Corchoran.

  "He advises us that he will conduct an inspection of the ship upon our arrival at Station Prime."

  John stared down at the link on the back of his hand. As usual, command had impeccable timing. The Agamemnon would be arriving at Station Prime within the hour. And they'd been scheduled for shore leave.

  "Understood, Commander."

  He faced the four weapons officers and the ranks of gunners behind them.

  "I told you all that you would start with me with a clean slate. What happened before doesn't matter to me, but what happens now does. I'll be damned if I'm going to expect anything less than the best from you. And that means we're going to run these drills until we get them right, if that means drilling from now until doomsday. Carry on."

  They remained at attention as he left the weapons bay. John headed back to the command deck. Why did the last day before a leave always turn out like this? He'd been so excited to get the command of the Agamemnon, an Omega-class destroyer with a crew of one hundred and sixty. It was a big step up from his first command, the Galatea, a heavy cruiser with a crew of 102. Yet since taking command, he'd been unable to get the crew into fighting shape.

  It had taken John a few weeks of matching names to faces to realize that the service records for each crew member and the crew member himself often had little in common. It seemed the previous captain, Best, had played favorites. Big time. Certain members of the crew, like Spano, who seemed poorly motivated and borderline negligent, had exemplary records, commendations, and recommendations for promotion.

  Others, who were diligent and competent, had never had a promotion under Best, their records filled with reports of incompetence and dereliction of duty. Several of them had lodged complaints over their evaluations, but the complaints had been dismissed. And so one week ago he had instituted his "clean slate" policy, explaining in a speech to the crew that he would disregard everything that they had done in the past and judge them only by what they did under his command. This worked well with those who had been undervalued by Best. Their enthusiasm and performance showed marked improvement. But those who had been favored by Best, for the most part, reacted poorly, growing even more sullen and uncooperative undervalued by Best. Their enthusiasm and performance showed marked improvement. But those who had been favored by Best, for the most part, reacted poorly, growing even more sullen and uncooperative.

  A few of them were making efforts to improve, but too few. He was left with at least ten percent of the crew whom he could not count on to perform. And while a few of them could be transferred, and a few would probably have to be court-martialed, that still left him with a huge problem. As he entered the command deck of the Agamemnon, he was reminded again of why he was here. The command deck was a thing of beauty. More space, more control and information easy at hand, more power and flexibility available, a clear line of sight to all officers, not impeded by bulkheads or banks of equipment, and a huge observation screen, which revealed the lulling red currents of hyperspace.

  It made him proud to be a part of Earthforce. Commander Corchoran saw him and stepped down from the command chair.

  "We're thirty minutes from the jump gate, Captain."

  "Thank you."

  John sat.

  His throat was dry from yelling.

  "How did the drill go?"

  Corchoran's face always seemed to have a dark cloud hanging over it. His salt- and-pepper hair, cropped close, clung to his head, and his dark, pronounced brows overshadowed his deep- set eyes. An odd slackness to his cheeks gave him a constantly glum look.

  "Not well. I don't want to transfer these problems into someone else's lap, but I'm having a hard time coming up with another solution."

  "Perhaps I could talk to the crew again. Who was giving you trouble?"

  Corchoran had been on the Agamemnon throughout Best's tenure, had, in fact, transferred with Best and about thirty of Best's handpicked men from the Athena, Best's previous command. John had been happy to accept Corchoran with his strong record as first officer, and though he'd come to realize that record was meaningless, Corchoran had nevertheless lived up to it. He knew everything about the ship and her crew, and he'd been the source of some valuable information since John had come aboard, though it did seem to John that he had trouble enforcing discipline. That was why John had been forced to take action himself this morning.

  "No, thanks. I need to form my own relationships with the crew, and they need to learn to accept my way of doing things. But I do get the sense that some of them resent the hell out of me, and I'd dearly like to know why."

  Corchoran took a step closer and lowered his voice.

  "If you don't mind my saying so, Captain, I think a number of the crew may envy your war record. Those of us who served with Captain Best on the Athena came away from the war with an undeserved stain on our reputations. Some of us have moved on, but others, I think, might resent your presence."

  John wondered which group Corchoran included himself in. He was eight years older than John, and though that was not an unreasonable age for the rank of commander, it had been four years since his last promotion. If he did resent John, there had been no sign of it. Perhaps Corchoran resented Captain Best, for screwing the pooch so badly a few months ago that even his pol
itical connections couldn't save this command for him. Best had attempted to make the jump to hyperspace with an engine port open, causing a dangerous instability in the jump engines that had spat them out in the same spot an hour in the future, nearly on top of another Earthforce vessel.

  The investigation had stopped short of preferring any charges, but Captain Best had been "promoted" to a desk job, leaving all his favorites behind. At least Corchoran was being honest about Captain Best's reputation, a quality John valued highly. He must have found the rumors of Captain Best's cowardice at the Battle of the Line eight years ago embarrassing at best.

  "Thank you for your frankness. Now, about this inspection. Inform each of the section chiefs. Make sure they're prepared. I want this inspection to go by the numbers, no surprises. Tell them to make sure their crew is alert, not daydreaming about what they're going to do on leave. If we don't pass this inspection, there won't be any leave."

  And that, John thought, was a possibility he didn't even want to consider.

  CHAPTER 4

  Anna show could barely keep a straight face as the bellhop ed her through the Honeymoon Suite of the Imperial Hotel on Station Prime, orbiting Centauri Prime. She'd thought booking the suite would be romantic. But she was afraid the Centauri idea of romance was not quite the same as hers. The walls were draped in purple velvets and gold cords, with suggestive paintings of scampering Centauri in ornate gold frames centered under mood lights. Gold sculptures of what might have been various Centauri gods and other shiny knickknacks covered nearly every available surface.

  The style of the engravings and ornaments was somewhat Romanesque, but the Centauri had gone where no Roman had gone before. Subtlety was not part of their style. The rug was made of a long, hairy fur-dyed purple, of course-that seemed to cling to her shoes. The bed was elliptical and huge, bigger in itself than an entire hotel room in New York. The bellhop showed her the bed's control panel, which wasn't much different from the cockpit of the starfury John had once snuck her into.

  The bathroom had some odd appliances, for the styling of the male Centauri's hair, her bellhop explained, and a huge golden bathtub that seemed to be in the shape of a six-tentacled octopus-type creature. The bellhop explained how the tub could be filled with a variety of liquid substances while Anna nodded her head gravely. She thanked him and showed him to the door, as soon as he left bursting out into laughter and making a running leap at the bed. She landed with an incredible bounce, the springs-or whatever they were-sending her nearly into the ceiling.