"Sheridan, get down here," Chang said.
"It looks like we're going to have a party."
She wanted to break open the husks now, to see the condition of the mice, to run a whole series of tests on them, but it was too dangerous a procedure to do with the probe. She could damage them. She should wait. She should wait.
"I'll just stay a little longer," Anna said.
"You've been in there eight hours," Chang said, surprising Anna.
"Get out of there and come join the party."
She became aware of the aching in her legs and arms, the tightness at the back of her neck, the pounding in her head. Anna closed down the session, returning the probe to automatic, twisted her sweaty hands out of the gloves, and pulled off her helmet. She was exhausted. As she pulled herself out of the chair, her leg muscles spasming, she realized that she had totally lost track of her body. She had, in a sense, melded with the machine. For those eight hours, she had been the machine. And as she scanned the controls and panels and communications equipment surrounding her, it struck her: the machine had been the universe.
* * *
It was eighteen hundred by the time the general left him in his quarters. John was breathing hard, as if he'd been running rather than standing at attention while the general chewed him out. He leaned a hand against the bulkhead, lowering his head. He'd failed. He could feel his career slipping away from him, and the sensation was terrifying. Being an Earthforce officer was what he was meant to do. He couldn't imagine a life apart from the service.
He'd co mpletely misjudged Ross, and that error in judgment might cost him his career. They'd been engaged in a battle simulation with the heavy cruiser Hyperion. During the mock battle, the Hyperion, in an ingenious maneuver, had managed a hit to the Agamemnon's targeting system, knocking it out. John had ordered manual targeting, which required the four weapons officers to enter the hemispheric cages that projected a holographic image of the firing field of each laser cannon. There had been confusion in the weapons bay at that point; John wasn't sure what had happened. But at last, after an unacceptable delay during which the Hyperion scored two more hits off them, the manual targeting systems were operational and the officers began to fire at will.
All, that is, except Ross. John had brought the ship about in a way that exposed the Hyperion's flank to the Agamemnon's aft port cannon. And yet, despite John's direct orders, Ross had not fired. Before John could bring another cannon to bear, the Hyperion had scored a killing hit, the smaller cruiser triumphing over one of the most advanced destroyers in the fleet. Afterward, in the privacy of John's office, Lochschmanan had chewed him up one side and down the other, condemning his performance as shameful and inadequate. John straightened, his face drawn down, taut. He should have court-martialed Ross after the aborted punching incident. Well, he'd correct that error right now. He hadn't created this mess, but by God he was going to clean it up, if it was the last thing he did. John jabbed his link.
"Lieutenant Ross. Ross!" There was no response.
He called security, told them to find and detain Ross. Then, unable to wait, he headed to Ross's quarters, breathing fire. Ross's failure during the battle simulation was much more serious than sloppy procedure or a bad attitude. It proved Ross incompetent: clear grounds for discharge from Earthforce. He reached Ross's quarters just as two guards arrived.
"He's in there, Captain," one said.
"Open it," John barked.
The guard punched his security code into the keypad. The door swung open. Although it took the door less than a second to open, the wait seemed interminable to John. As the wedge-shaped opening grew, John saw a small worn brown rug, the corner of a bed with an Earthforce jacket thrown across it. Ross's quarters were identical to the other officers' quarters, except for the captain's and the commander's, which were larger. Ross shared a room with another officer, in their standard configuration the two sides of the room mirroring each other, desks on either side of the door, beds against the long walls, dressers against the far wall.
John ducked into the room before the door had fully opened. Ross was sitting on the bed, his huge bulk pushed up into the corner, his legs bent at awkward angles. John at first thought Ross was praying. His hands were clasped together beneath his chin, and his eyes were closed. He ought to be praying, John thought. Then he saw the half-empty bottle of bourbon leaning against Ross's hip. The two guards flanked John, and Ross's bloodshot eyes snapped open.
"Don't move," he boomed, his words slightly slurred.
As Ross spoke he lifted his head, and John saw clenched in his hands a PPG, the barrel pushed into the skin beneath his chin. Oh hell. John shook his head, astonishment crowding out his anger.
"It's okay," he said to Ross.
"We're not going to do anything."
He raised his hands to the sides, holding the guards behind him.
"Wait outside," he said to them.
They backed slowly out of the room.
"Give me the gun," he said to Ross, holding out a hand.
Ross must have stolen the PPG from the ship's arsenal. Ross blinked hard, his sharp mouth pressed into a line.
"You're here to charge me, aren't you? Gross incompetence."
"You're drunk. Give me the gun."
John took a step closer, and Ross whipped the PPG around at him.
"Stay back!"
The guards rushed back into the room, their PPGs drawn.
"It's okay," John said.
"Wait outside. Close the door."
When they were alone, John backed away, sat on the opposite bed. Whatever problems had been eating at Ross had finally broken through to the surface today, with a vengeance.
"I'll stay over here, all right? Until you're ready to give me the gun. I won't come any closer."
Ross tucked the gun back up under his chin, like a security blanket. His eyes met John's.
"I'd like to apologize for my performance today, sir."
His booming voice was cracking, fracturing.
"I also wanted to apologize for-almost punching you, sir. You were absolutely right, about the promotions."
Ross paused, swallowed.
"I find myself unfit for duty, Captain."
After all the difficulties he'd had with Ross and the weapons section, the carelessness, the dereliction, the passive resistance to his command, this was the last thing he expected. John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Tell me what happened today, Lieutenant."
Ross's voice had lost its power. It was uncertain, erratic now.
"I delayed entering the manual targeting system, Captain. And once I did, when I had the Hyperion dead to rights, I failed to fire."
"But why did you fail to fire?"
"I couldn't fire, sir."
"Was there a failure in the manual system?"
"No, sir."
"Then why couldn't you fire?"
Ross shifted, the mountain of his body out of balance, insecure.
"I remembered the last time I used the manual targeting system."
"And when was that?"
"During the Earth-Minbari War, Captain. At the Battle of the Line. Aboard the Athena."
That made sense. The targeting system was one of the most valued components of any warship, and so was protected as much as possible from damage and built with many redundancies. It was one of the most dependable components of the ship. Yet during the Earth-Minbari War, Earthforce had discovered that their targeting systems had been unable to lock on to any Minbari ships. The advanced Minbari technology eluded the targeting systems, and so required the entire war to be fought with manual targeting and manual firing. He was finally getting to the heart of it, to what was bothering Ross. It was the breakthrough he'd hoped for. He clasped his hands.
"What happened at the Battle of the Line?"
Ross's shoulders fell as he let out a breath. He spoke slowly in the attempt to sound sober, but his voice quavered with emotion.
"We'd been ordered to hold position, hold the line, no matter what. The Minbari were heading straight for Earth, and Earthforce sent up every ship they had in defense. Most of them didn't have a chance. The Athena was a destroyer, one of the linchpins of the line. They were counting on us."
John found himself remembering other accounts he'd heard of the horrific Battle of the Line, a battle he'd missed, a battle that had involved over twenty thousand Earth ships and had left only two hundred survivors.
"The battle happened so fast-twenty-five minutes total, someone said. Once the Minbari were on us, they destroyed our ships as fast as they could target and fire. I was doing manual targeting for the fore starboard cannon. When you're inside one of those systems, you feel like you're hanging out in space, all alone. The back of your seat feels like the hull of the ship against your back. You become very attached to it."
Ross removed one hand from the PPG, grabbed the bottle at his side, took a quick, hard slug. His hand returned to the gun, his eyes averted now.
"I could see above and below the plane of the ship, which were clear. In front of the ship, to my left, a huge Minbari warship glided toward us. It look like a gigantic shark. And off our starboard bow, stretching off in front of me as far as I could see, a line of identical warships closed on ours."
"Both sides had launched fighters, but the enemy fighters didn't even try to evade us. Our starfuries didn't have enough power to damage them. They just glided ahead, destroying our fighters as they went. "
"And beyond them, down the line, the Minbari were destroying ship after ship after ship. The sparks of the explosions looked like fireflies."
"The Curie closed on our starboard side for protection, but it was too late. The Minbari warship had already made one direct hit, and it made another. The Curie exploded, taking out our two aft cannons, the cargo bay, and a whole section of our hull. We lost eighty-four of the crew."
Ross's torso began to rock slightly back and forth.
"After it had destroyed the Curie, the warship targeted us. We started taking direct hits. I had fired into the belly of that beast, again and again. It had no effect. I started firing at the enemy fighters instead. Those I could destroy. I shot one after another after another. Their steady courses made them easy to target. Like shooting fish in a barrel. But there were too many. Our 'furies were destroyed within a minute, and after that the Minbari fighters swarmed over the Athena."
"We took hit after hit, the ship shuddering like it was caught in a feeding frenzy. Then the third laser cannon went out. Mine was the only one still operational. I just kept my finger on the firing button, cutting my line of fire through the mass of them. It wasn't enough."
"I had been linke d to the command deck throughout the battle to receive orders, so I heard it when Captain Best gave the command. We all knew, when he gave the order, that it was treason. We'd been ordered to hold the line at all costs. Earth stood in the balance. But no one objected. We all knew that the ship was on the verge of destruction. The battle was lost. There was nothing we could do. So we retreated."
Ross raised his head, his eyes returning to John, and John nodded his encouragement. So the rumors about Best had been true. Ross looked away again, and his sharp features seemed fragile now, as if they could break apart.
"The Athena began to swing back from the line, and Captain Best ordered the helmsman to open a jump point. We were all thinking it. Just one jump and we would be away. We would be safe. The next thing I knew a target had swung into my field of fire at pointblank range and was coming straight at me, as if it was going to ram. I fired. As my finger hit the button I realized it was one of our own furies. I saw the face of the pilot at the moment my laser hit him. Bjornson. I knew him. "
"If we'd been using the computer targeting system, the friend-or-foe signal would have prevented us firing on one of our own ships. But on manual, there are no safeguards."
"I realized he'd been trying to make an emergency landing in the fighter bay before we abandoned him. The explosion, at point-blank range, took out my laser cannon and the jump engines, and another thirty-five of the crew were killed. Then we couldn't run."
A tear made a silent track down Ross's face.
"The captain and those on the command deck must have seen what happened. But they didn't say anything about it. They were too busy trying to keep the ship together."
"The Minbari seemed to sense that we were helpless ; they moved on to other targets, and I watched as their ships destroyed the remaining fragments of the line."
"After the battle, they started calling all of us who survived heroes, and Captain Best a hero for saving the largest surviving Earthforce ship. Those of the crew who didn't like Captain Best accused him of retreating. But others supported the captain. Most of them didn't know what had happened. No evidence survived to prove things one way or the other. Best and his cronies saw to that. Best claimed that a Minbari warship took out our jump engines. He said he'd feared the Athena might explode and damage some of our own ships, so he'd swung slightly out of position. I backed him up, along with many others. Best covered up for me, so I covered up for him.
"
"Of course, the rumors continued. They hurt the reputation of the captain and all of us who served with him. But Captain Best had strong enough allies in the service to survive it, and those of us loyal to him he rewarded. I owe my position as weapons chief to the killing of thirty-six crew members."
Ross let out a hard breath, and his body settled further around the PPG, as if he had held this secret within the architecture of his bones. John had never known anyone to be quite so honest with himself. No wonder Ross had kept this hidden inside so long. John couldn't imagine how he would feel if he killed one of his own crew by accident. Facing or discharging friendly fire was a fear of every soldier.
"Best has kept your secret all this time, and you've kept his. Why tell me now?"
One of Ross's hands broke free from the gun, wiped impatiently at his cheek, returned.
"Because it's poisoned me, sir. I didn't even know it until you came aboard. Captain Best never demanded much from us, and I realize now that after the Battle of the Line, I didn't believe I could do much. I made a lot of noise, but the crew under me knew they could do whatever they wanted. I was a hollow man. I didn't believe in myself. It was just like you said. I actually thought you'd found out about me."
"I didn't believe in Earthforce anymore either. How could I, and support Captain Best? My habits grew worse and worse, my duties neglected. The crew under me have been poisoned by my attitude. When you took command, I laughed at that welcome speech you gave. You seemed so naive and gung-ho. But then as time passed I started listening to you. And watching you. And I realized that you were what I had once wanted to be. And I realized that there was another path, and I had taken the wrong one."
Ross curled the mountain of his body around the PPG with a shudder.
"You're right that the past shapes us. I can't go back now. And I don't believe I can become the officer you want me to be, one worthy of this uniform. I don't believe I'm fit to be in Earthforce, Captain."
John stood, afraid to move forward, afraid that Ross would kill himself right then.
"You say you've been promoted unfairly. Now you want to take the easy way out. Well, I'm not going to let you off so easily, mister. I want you to serve Earthforce in the place of those thirty-six men and women who can't anymore. I want you to earn that rank you carry. I want you to perform the duties you should have been performing. I will accept no excuses, and I will tolerate no less than excellence. I want your section to become an example to this entire ship. If you've been poisoned, then spit it out and be done with it. You have a debt to pay, and I'm going to see that you pay it, in duty and honor."
Ross's head was inclined.
"Hand over the gun, Lieutenant."
John extended his hand. Ross raised his head, his sharp, fragile features like a lost child's. He straightened, ha
nded the PPG to John.
"Yes, sir," he said uncertainly.
"Come to attention, Lieutenant Ross."
Ross pushed himself to the edge of the bed, setting the bottle of bourbon carefully on the floor. He stood.
"I have processed Watley's request for a transfer, and I expect she'll be off the Agamemnon within a month. But that still leaves you with Spano and some of the more difficult gunners to handle. Will you be able to deal with them?"
After a few moments Ross's lost look began to fade. His body straightened, his shoulders squaring, the mountain rebuilding itself on firmer ground. His sharp mouth hardened again into a line, though it seemed now not resistant, but determined. When he boomed out his reply, the uncertainty was gone from his voice.
"Yes I will, sir."
CHAPTER 9
Anna typed in her access code again. No answering spouse came from the probe. She cursed, her voice dampened in the cramped confines of the probe control module. Claustrophobia was building. She checked the instrument settings, typed in the access code again:
HOME-RUN ANNIE. Her nickname in college.
The probe made no response.
SEND TEST SIGNAL TO PROBE, she typed. The test signal should simply be bounced back by the probe, whether her access code was working or not.
TEST SIGNAL NOT RETURNED, the computer reported. SEND TEST SIGNAL TO ORBITER, she typed.
TEST SIGNAL RETURNED. ORBITER IN POSITION.
So it wasn't a problem with the orbiter. The problem was definitely with the probe. Perhaps the weather was disrupting communications. The probe's transmissions had suffered almost constant distortion from the dust, though they'd never been completely blocked. In the twenty hours they'd been manually operating the probe, the communications had been fairly clear.
ACCESS ORBITER. CODE HOME-RUN ANNIE.
ORBITER ON LINE, came the response.
WHAT IS STATUS OF WEATHER IN PROBE SECTOR? Anna typed.
Babylon 5 07 - The Shadow Within (Cavelos, Jeanne) Page 10