Babylon 5 02 - Accusations (Tilton, Lois)

by Accusations (Tilton, Lois)

  A frown. "You're Earthforce, you're security, aren't you? Nick said you were the head guy."

  "I'm head of Babylon 5 security, yes. But there's an independent investigation going on that I'm not directly involved in. Nick should have told you that. I'm not mixed up with what this Commander Wallace is doing on the station. But I'll try. And if I do find out what I'm looking for, it could help your friend."

  "So what is it you're looking for?"

  Garibaldi handed him the viewer. "This man. Whatever you know about him. We think his name is Fengshi Yang. He might have called himself something else, though."

  A frown. "You think Sonia might have been involved with this guy?"

  "I don't know. I don't know what Sonia was involved in. If you told me, you know, that might help."

  But he abruptly gave back the viewer. "No. No, never saw him before."

  Garibaldi thought he had the sudden intuition of what it must be like to be a telepath and simply know when someone was lying. "What I've heard," he said, "is that he worked as a kind of enforcer on Mars. Around the mines."

  Quickly, "I wouldn't know. I wasn't a miner. Look, I've got to go. I don't have anything to say."

  Garibaldi tried to stop him, but the look in the guy's eyeshe was scared. He dropped his arm, let him go. Damn, there was another lead that went nowhere. More time wasted. Everyone was scared, no one would talk. A dozen interviews so far, and only Welch had talked, and Welch had dead space for brains.

  Now what? There were other workers in the machine shop area. A few of them gave him a curious glance. Garibaldi wondered if he ought to go over, show them Yang's holo, ask if any of them had ever worked in the mines on Mars. But he already knew what they'd say: No, sorry, never saw him before, never heard of him. No, I wasn't a miner. I don't know anything.

  Would they rather have Wallace asking the questions? he wondered, leaving the shop area. Would they rather have a telepath probing around in their minds, digging out the truth?

  Garibaldi knew he was looking at a dead end. If he didn't find any leads soon, he was going to be the one facing the real troublefailing to file proper reports, concealing the truth about his investigation. As soon as Wallace found out.

  Well, maybe Torres had uncovered a lead. He could hope. He was supposed to meet her now, anyway.

  Preoccupied, he didn't notice the guy who came up behind him, the other one from his side, didn't notice the shock sticks they pulled, didn't see

  Then pain radiated through his entire nervous system, short-circuiting all thought processes, all other functions. His muscles spasmed out of control, and he didn't even feel it when his head connected with the deck.

  CHAPTER 17

  He came to slowly, conscious only vaguely of pain, a general, body-wide hurting. It was dark. He tried to reach out, to grope for a surface, but he couldn't move his arms. He tried again, realized they were tied somehow, fastened behind him. Andyeshis legs, too, tied together at the ankles, bent up against his chest. His back was pressed up against some hard, unyielding surface, his arms trapped between them, cramped, circulation cut off. He tried to shift to a different position, to ease the discomfort, but there was no room to move. His back was against one wall, his shoulder against another, and if he leaned over to the other side, he hit a third wall. And his feet and knees were pressed up against the fourth. He was crammed into this dark place that was almost too small to hold him, tied upwhy?

  Fear made his heartbeat race. It was hard to breathe in here. The air felt hot and stale, as if there wasn't much oxygen. And that thought instantly triggered the sensation that he was stifling, choking No, wait. In his mouth, a gag.

  So where was he? A dark, small, enclosed place. A locker?

  A locker . . .

  Ortega! Now real panic hit him, making him kick out and strain against his bonds. This was how they'd found J. D. Ortega's body, crammed into a locker just like this! Garibaldi couldn't help remembering the sight of the corpse, stiff with rigor mortis, knees bent up against the chest to fit it inside. Was this why he was tied up in here?

  Was he supposed to die in here the same way, in this dark, airless place?

  No! He kicked out with both feet together, as much in protest as a serious attempt to break out of his confinement. He could just manage it, just draw his feet back far enough to make an impact.

  He kicked out again. No! they weren't going to get away with this. No! he wasn't going to let them. No! not like Ortega. No! he wasn't going to die in here. No! No! No!

  He paused, falling back, aching, sweating, gasping for breath that wouldn't come through the gag in his mouth. His head throbbed and his ears were ringing from the din of the repeated kicks against the locker walls. It was too much.

  Get ahold of yourself, Mike! All right, calm down. Think.

  He remembered then that J. D. Ortega hadn't suffocated in the locker, that he'd been poisoned and shoved inside after he was dead. Didn't mean, of course, that he couldn't die in here, but at least it wasn't the same, not quite the same. And if they'd meant him to die, they would have killed him already. Wouldn't they? Unless they thought he was dead before they put him in here.

  All right, all right. It didn't help to dwell on any of that, did it? After all, he was alive, and that's what mattered. And staying that way.

  If he could reach his link, he could call for help. Shouldn't be too hard, his wrists were tied together. He groped for the link, found his wrist, the back of his hand but no link. It was gone. Damn!

  Now what?

  All right. Let's think this through, Mike. Problem: My link is gone, I'm tied up and shut into this locker. Assuming it is a locker. So let's assume it is. Then it should have a door. Four sides, one of them should be the door.

  Can't tell which one, it's too dark. Can I kick it open? Well, the lockers on the station aren't all that strong. I should be able to. But I was just kicking the hell out of it, and it's still shut tight. So maybe that side isn't the door. To say that Garibaldi couldn't move at all was to exaggerate the facts by just a bit. He had freedom enough to move his bound legs enough to kick. And, he now discovered, he could manage to twist and rotate his entire body a centimeter at a time until he was facing another one of the locker's walls, which he hoped would prove to be the door.

  It was a slow, exhausting process that again left him breathing hard, as if he were running out of air. The locker must be airtight, then, he thought. Or maybe it wasn't really a locker at all, maybe it was something a whole lot harder to break out of.

  Desperately, he kicked out. The locker's sides rang with the impact, hurt his ears again. Loud.

  Someone ought to be able to hear that. He paused. Again, his ears were ringing. It was like his whole skull was vibrating with the sound. Made it hard to think.

  No, have to think. All right. If I'm making so much noise, why doesn't anyone hear it? Maybe there's no one around. Or maybe they 're making so much noise themselves they can't hear me.

  But the way his ears were ringing, he couldn't tell. It didn't matter, though. He had to keep trying. Someone might come by and hear him. Or he could finally manage to kick the door down. Only if he kept trying, though. So he kept trying.

  On the main communications display in the Observation Dome Commander Ivanova was saying, "No, I don't expect another attack. The first one was just a feint, to see if they could draw us off. The second time they didn't even come into range. No, we've scared them off."

  "Good work," Sheridan said enthusiastically. "I think we'll be able to show Earth Central that this approach can work. Results, Commander. That's what counts."

  "Yes, sir. We'll be bringing the transport in. ETA in 3:50 hours."

  "Good work," Sheridan said again, pleased for her, pleased for the safety of the transport and the success of this approach to fighter escort patrols. A good officer, Ivanova. Innovation, initiative, just the right degree of aggression. Good qualities.

  "Captain Sheridan?"

  He turned to s
ee another officer standing slightly behind him, an ensign, security insignia on her uniform. Short, red-haired. Seemed to be upset about something, but controlling it. "Ensign Torres?" he recalled her name.

  "Yes, sir. Could I speak with you, sir?"

  "Of course."

  She glanced around the busy center of the Observation Dome. "In private?"

  "Of course." Once behind the closed door of the briefing room, he asked, "So what's the trouble, Ensign?"

  "Sir, it's Mr. Garibaldi. I'm afraid he's missing. I can't locate him."

  Sheridan reached for his link, but Torres shook her head. "He doesn't answer his link. And C&C can't trace it. I've already tried. And ... I have reason to believe he may be in danger."

  "Better tell me about it, Ensign."

  "We've been investigating a murder"

  "Not the Ortega case?"

  "No, sir. A different murder. A man was found . . . that is, part of him was found in the recycling system. We were able to ID him through his DNA code. His name was listed as Fengshi Yang, but there's a mix-up with his file in the station registry, inconsistencies. We've been trying to trace him, determine his true identity."

  Sheridan frowned. "I don't think I was informed about this, Ensign. Why not?"

  Torres's small white teeth bit down on her lower lip. "I don't know, sir. But Mr. Garibaldi wanted this case kept quiet, in case information got out to the wrong parties, I suppose. I think I was the only one working directly on it with him. But ... I didn't know you hadn't been informed."

  The captain's frown deepened. Torres was having trouble keeping her eyes straightforward. There was something she wasn't saying, at least. "Go on," he said impatiently.

  "Yes, sir. He was supposed to meet me more than three hours ago. To discuss our results. When he didn't show up, I tried to reach him on his link. I supposed at first that there might be some reason why he might have gone off-line. But he never does that. And then when I asked C&C to check on him, they reported no trace to his link at all. Sir, I'm worried, but because this could be a sensitive case, I didn't know if I should issue a stationwide search alert."

  "What do you mean, a sensitive case?" Torres looked away for just an instant. "Well, sir, we weren't sure ... I mean, there was no evidence, and Mr. Garibaldi told me not to mention anything, but it's possible there could be a connection between this murder and the Ortega case. And I think that may have been what he was investigating."

  "You think?"

  "Sir, he didn't tell me. He said there wasn't a connection, but I think ... he thought there might have been. And he didn't want anyone else involved. I wasn't sure what to do"

  "I see," said Sheridan shortly. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone, where he might be?"

  "No, sir. If I had, I'd have checked myself. But he didn't tell me. I don't think he told anyone what he was doing."

  Sheridan nodded. Time enough to get to the bottom of the mystery later, time enough to get the true story out of Garibaldionce they found him. "This is Captain Sheridan, I'm calling a general stationwide alert. Mr. Garibaldi is missing."

  "Come on, Ensign Torres. I haven't been on this station very long, but after we get through taking it apart, I may know every square meter of it. We're going to find Garibaldi."

  How long had it been? Wearily, Garibaldi kicked again at the side of the locker. Was it starting to give? If it was, he sure couldn't tell. Why'd they have to make the lockers on this station so damn strong, anyway? His hips ached, his back. His shoulders were agony, with his arms twisted back behind him. His head throbbed with pain.

  He twisted himself around again until his back was pressed up against a new surface. Got to keep trying. He kicked out. Was this the door?

  Got to keep trying.

  No, wait. What was that? A sound? A voice?

  He tried to call out through the gag, choked, then kicked the side of the locker againI'm here!

  Did they hear him?

  Yes! Relief flowed through him. Oh, yes! Someone calling his name! Garibaldi?

  He kicked twice. Once for no and twice for yes. Where did I hear that?

  "Garibaldi? Is that you? Where are you?"

  Here! he wanted to yell, but the gag prevented it. Two kicks again. Not so hard this time, not so loud. Just so they could find the locker he was in.

  "Garibaldi? Are you in here?"

  The captain's voice. Sheridan. Thank you, Captain. Thank you.

  "He's in here! In this locker! Get it open, now!"

  There was a grating, wrenching noise. "Dammit, then try the next one! I know he's in here!"

  He kicked out again, to be helpful, but suddenly there was another loud ripping sound of metal tearing, and the wall on his left side gave way and he was falling, couldn't catch himself.

  Blinding light. Hands grabbing hold of him, easing him down to the floor.

  "Get him untied! Garibaldi, are you all right?"

  The gag was pulled from his mouth. He gasped, tried to swallow, managed to croak an inarticulate response. Swallowed again. "Fine. Just fine."

  Even managed a grin. "Real . . . happy to see you . . . Captain."

  They took him to Medlab. Garibaldi didn't really want to go to Medlab, but they didn't ask his opinion in the matter, and the captain ordered it, and so it was done.

  Dr. Franklin examined him, gave him something that made his aches and pains fade away, peered into his eyes with an instrument and said he was lucky he had a hard head, but one of these days he was going to hit it too many times.

  "Concussion?" the captain asked. The doc shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It was a glancing blow, like he struck it when he fell. Now, this is a shock-stick burn." He pointed to a place on the side of Garibaldi's neck.

  Funny, he couldn't remember that place hurting before, in the locker. But it was coming back to him now. A shock stick. Yeah. That's what it must have been. Not the first time he'd been shocked. It wasn't the kind of experience you forgot. Yeah, first the shock. Then coming to in the dark. He remembered it now.

  Experimentally, he shook his head. It almost didn't hurt. He sat up, to Doc's protesting "Hey, take it easy."

  "I feel all right. I'm just sitting up." He turned to face Sheridan. And there was Torres, behind him. Torres? "Thanks for pulling me out of there, Captain."

  "You had us a little bit worried there for a while."

  And Torres, apologetic, said, "I'm sorry, Chief. I wasn't sure what you wanted me to do, but after I couldn't raise you on your link, I told the captain. I hope"

  "I think that was a good decision," Garibaldi said sincerely. "Thanks, Torres."

  Sheridan was looking at him. "You want to tell me about it now?"

  Franklin started to protest that his patient had just been hit on the head, but Garibaldi sat up straight. His head felt clearer now, though he knew that was probably the drugs.

  "I don't know how much there is to tell, Captain. I was interviewing a possible witness, who didn't have very much to say. I left him, I was heading back to the lift tube, to meet with Torres, and thenzap!"

  "I understand you're investigating a murder. A man named Yang? Is there a connection? Do you think it was Yang's killer who zapped you? Someone who didn't want your witness to talk?"

  Garibaldi closed his eyes a moment. Maybe he wasn't really ready for this. But it was too late now.

  Sheridan's expression was starting to take on a more severe look. "According to Ensign Torres here, there might be a connection between Yang's death and the Ortega case. But there's nothing to that effect in the file on Yang's case. In fact, there's almost nothing in that file."

  Torres, still behind the captain, looked pained and guilty.

  Garibaldi shook his head, winced. "It was only a hunch. No facts. No evidence. Nothing to put into a file. All I really know is that Yang departed for Babylon 5 from Marsport on date 04/18 and died sometime within the next five days."

  Sheridan looked dubious. "That's your hunch?"

&nb
sp; "One more thing. According to the station registry, he left Babylon 5 on 04/20. Passenger manifest says he didn't. Fact that we found his body three days later says he didn't. So somebody must have tampered with his file in the station registry. That's my hunch. That's it."

  Garibaldi was earnestly glad there wasn't a telepath in the room at the moment. He was thinking of Welch, and the information that Welch had given him, tying Yang to Mars and the mines there. But Welch was safely back on his ship, with nothing in his record to suggest he was anything but a gambler thrown off the station for cheating at cards.

  Sheridan started to say something, then turned his head. There was noise out in the corridor, someone shouting. Franklin looked furious, strode to the door. "Keep it down! What's all this about? I'm not having my patients disturbed!"

  But Garibaldi shut his eyes. Suddenly his headache was coming back. He recognized the furious voice demanding that someone get out of his way and stop obstructing his investigation if she didn't want to face "very serious charges, Technician."

  Just what he needed right now. His favorite head-hunter, Commander Ian Wallace, had come to visit him.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wallace burst into the treatment room followed by his aide Khatib and a seething Franklin. "All right, Garibaldi, this is it"

  But he was stopped short by the sight of Sheridan standing at Garibaldi's bedside, a Sheridan who did not look like part of a welcoming committee. "I hope, Commander, that you have some reasonable explanation for barging into Medlab like this, disturbing the patients?"

  Wallace drew himself up straight. "Captain, I have reason to believe that your chief of security has been interfering in my investigation, in defiance of both my orders and yours. And I believe you understand now how important my findings are to Earth Central."

  But if this last remark was intended to intimidate Sheridan, it had the opposite effect. Babylon 5's commander did not like being reminded of Wallace's knowledge of his personal, restricted message from the Earthforce Joint Chiefs. "What I understand at the moment, Commander," he said tightly, "is that you have one minute to either justify your presence here or leave Medlab."