From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 8 17:23:11 1996 Date: Thu, 11 Apr 1996 15:35:25 -0100 From: Devious Brownies To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 1. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- This story is set between the events of "By Any Means Necessary" and those of "Signs and Portents". This story was written by David Brownless ("Devious Brownies") and comments and criticism should be sent to D.M.Brownless@rl.ac.uk. The characters and situations of the television show "Babylon 5" are the intellectual property of Warner Brothers and are used without permission. Additional material by David Brownless may be used by anyone provided that acknowledgement of its origin is included. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 1. "Thirty-five percent and STILL falling!" the engineer screamed. The ship shuddered savagely to the beat of another explosion, shaking her about in her chair like a rag. Red lights began to flash all over her panel, some in unison, some maddeningly out of phase. In the bleak illumination of the cabin their light played like fire across the walls and ceiling. She blinked back tears of frustration and despair and set to work. Re-route, dampen, extinguish, contrive. Again and again she reached for the impossible. "Hold together Belle!" she whispered, through teeth clamped shut, "Please God, hold together!" "Mayday, mayday, mayday! We are under attack!" The captain kept up his calm monologue despite the shocks. He watched the slim, deadly, deltas on the ship's monitors. Watched them regroup, reorganise, and return. "We could use a little help here guys!" The crackling response seemed pitifully weak. "This is Lieutenant Commander Ivanova of Babylon five to mayday. Hold on mayday, we're less than a hour away!" Her words were interrupted by a particularly savage strike. Maynard-Smith noted that the monitor view changed abruptly as it compensated for the loss of another external camera. The captain studied the course and proximity displays, using them as impromptu tactical readouts. Time to gate, seventy-two minutes. Bandits, twelve. Chances, zero. Captain Maynard-Smith snorted, "I'll just leave my last will and testament where you can see it shall I?" "Starboard three is running hot!" the engineer supplied. "Feather it." he instructed, just a moment before remembering. He hit the controls himself, then spared a glance at the second seat. His co- pilot, his confidant, his lover, hung lifelessly from her straps like an abandoned puppet. Blood trickled from somewhere under her hair and a marble design of red blistering and black carbonisation surrounded her eyes like a macabre party mask. "Lieutenant, are you still there? This is the `Belle- dandy', over." "Just keep on the lam Belle-dandy, we're making top-speed to your position." the pilot's voice answered. A fresh series of tremors rattled the bridge. "Manoeuvring jets out! Port four out! Starboard three and four OUT!" cried the engineer hysterically, "Power at FIFTEEN percent and dropping!" "No hurry, `Earth-force' it doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere." Maynard-Smith added sourly, "See you in an hour, maybe." A raider ship flashed past the cockpit and executed a lazy turn. he scowled. The raider ship started to back up slightly, positioning itself for a `perfect' shot. Knowing they had plenty of time the attackers were electing to save their expensive ammunition. Captain Maynard-Smith looked over his shoulder to his engineer, Deborah Harper. From the look in her eyes it was clear that that she understood as well as he what would come next. One shot to the bridge then strip the `carcass' bare. Maynard-Smith smiled, "Best damn engineer I ever knew!" Harper soundlessly returned a `thank you'. "Okay guys, Alphas four through seven punch through that melee and cut off their retreat, the rest of us are just three minutes behind you!" The lieutenant commander's voice filled the cockpit with sudden clarity, and the indolent raider ship vanished in a silent puff of fire. Captain Maynard-Smith silently chided the fury pilot for forgetting to secure the channel. Three star-furies flashed by in formation, bright fire playing along the wing-tips as they made constant minor corrections to their attitude. Two more raider ships disintegrated under a hail of fire, then a third joined them in hell. The remainder broke and ran, declining the invitation to wait for a second force of these superior ships and pilots to join the party. Maynard-Smith shook the sweat out of his eyes with a flick of the head. His makeshift tactical showed the threat, so dire a few seconds ago, receding like a dust-induced dream. He accepted his good-fortune pragmatically, "I thought you were an hour away?" "I said LESS than an hour, Captain." Ivanova's answer came, "Though perhaps I forgot to mention how much less." The furies jockeyed around the transport's super-structure. "Prepare for grapple, Belle-dandy." Maynard-Smith was astonished, "Why not pursue them? Your other fighters can escort us back." Instantly the secure, ship-to-ship light started blinking on his communications board. He raised an eyebrow to Harper and acknowledged it. "There ARE no other ships, Captain!" the lieutenant replied, "The only reason we got here so fast is because we were already out this way on a routine patrol. Now let's get our butts the HELL out of here before those bastards realise they've been bluffed!" "Harper?" Maynard-Smith addressed his engineer, to no effect. Turning in his seat he saw her with hands balled into fists and eyes shut so hard her forehead strained. She shivered, her breathing uneven. Maynard-Smith understood, the shock of their brush with death was taking hold. "Harper!" he snapped, watching her jerk back to reality, "See what can be done about those engines and give us our best speed, stat!" He turned back to the mike. "My compliments Lieutenant Commander, a brilliant, if unorthodox, strategy." "I am Russian, Captain. These things come naturally to me!" Chapter 2. Ivanova stood to attention as Commander Sinclair re-read her report and his supplement to it on his desk monitor. Much to her annoyance Chief Garibaldi was conspicuously stood at ease beside her. The commander pressed the key to file the document and looked up at her. "Good work, lieutenant commander." he smiled, "I've requested that you receive a commendation in recognition of your actions." Garibaldi cut in, "On top of that the captain of the Belle-dandy said he's filed an official letter of appreciation with Earth-force. And he wants to buy you a drink sometime." The chief looked momentarily discomforted, as he always did when mentioning alcohol. "How are the Bell-dandy's crew?" Sinclair asked. "Captain Maynard-Smith's as tough as an old Narn's hide, I doubt a direct hit could've fazed him." Garibaldi started, "The engineer, Harper, is suffering from shock, Doctor Franklin has her sedated for the moment." "And the co-pilot?" the commander prompted. "Jane Flowers, she's alive but with a severe concussion." Garibaldi looked out of the window and away, "She's blind, Jeff. Franklin says she'll never see again." It was Ivanova's turn to look uncomfortable. "Can we do anything to help?" she asked. The security chief shook his head, "I asked the same thing of Maynard- Smith. Seems, she and the captain were something of an item, they were to marry soon. He's going through with it as soon as she's well and give up flying. Settle down in some sedentary job somewhere, maybe even here." There was a pregnant pause. This was a success, with ship and crew battered and bruised but still alive. This was a victory, but a pyrrhic one. Sinclair broke the silence first, "Anything further to report on your analysis of the raiders' pattern of attacks?" He watched their faces fall further and caught the furtive looks they passed to each other. It was obvious that neither wanted to be the one to speak, the commander deduced that their report contained either no news at all, or only bad news. It was the lieutenant commander who gave way first. "We analysed the manifests of the ships the raiders have been picking and it's obvious that they are well aware of what cargoes are on board." observed Ivanova, "Not only that. They are ignoring cargoes potentially more valuable than some of their targets because the routes the transports are taking would involve them in undue travelling time." "The bottom line being they are being just too efficient." Garibaldi cut in, "For that level of planning they'd need to have access to the routes of nearly all the traffic in the entire quadrant. Hell, I don't think I could plan a campaign that good!" He coughed, "That's the bad news." Sinclair looked from one officer to the other. "Okay," he said, "so the good news is that you've found the leak." "No sir." added Ivanova quietly, "The worse news is that we've found the leak. We've correlated the data of all the victims and come up with only one common factor." The young lieutenant commander looked at Garibaldi for a moment then down to the floor. "All the attacked ships filed their flight plans with Babylon five." "We've found the leak, Jeff," the security chief explained, "and it's us!" ---===***===--- Margaret Thornell waited for a wall console to become vacant with unconsciously clenched fists. she prayed to herself. A corpulent business type, obviously from Earth, picked up his case about two units down and she dived for it in rude haste. She had just activated the monitor when she heard the sharp hiss behind her. Thornell turned to find a Marcab staring fixedly over her head, she remembered this to be a sign of annoyance in their culture. The Marcab was insinuating `you are beneath me' and it occurred to her that he was probably right. "I AM sorry!" Margaret apologised, "Please, after you." She stood aside for him, bitterly regretting her panic. she chided herself. The Marcab stared over her a moment longer before relenting. "Is all right, you go." he nodded at her. She trawled through her meagre knowledge of Marcab culture for the correct response. Remembering, she looked briefly down and to the side, on looking up she found the Marcab approximating a human smile, repeated her gesture back to her. Honour had been served. "Computer," she instructed the console, "what is the latest ETA of the Earth transport ship `Eiko'?" The computer answered in its usual, unhurried tones. "The transport ship Eiko has docked in bay five and disembarkation is now under way." Thornell gave a muted shriek and turned on her heel into a dash, almost colliding with the Marcab. The Marcab watched her vanish through the crowd on a salvo on fast, tight steps and favoured the Centauri waiting behind him with a long- suffering look. The Centauri gave a short laugh and glanced heavenward. "Humans!" he commented, "Great maker, how did they last this long, eh?" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 8 17:23:18 1996 Date: Thu, 11 Apr 1996 16:46:08 -0100 From: Devious Brownies To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 2. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 3. Lou Welch had just waved through a young couple when Margaret Thornell rushed out of the crowd and grabbed his arm, he started guiltily. "If it's about me being late with my subs I was coming to see you right after this shift!" he began. "Oh hang that!" She answered vehemently, "Have you passed through the URSA rep yet?" She glanced wildly around the arrivals lounge for likely suspects. "URSA?" Welch shrugged, "What does he look like?" "Damn!" the woman spat, "I don't know. But he'll be wearing a silver badge with the `Big Dipper' on it if that's any help." Lou smiled, "Yeah, I've seen it. The little guy two spaces down the line is wearing one." Thornell let out a sigh of relief and stood to one side while the security officer checked through the intervening passengers. Welch nodded to her as he handed back the indent-card to the man in question. He was a petite Japanese dressed neatly, if plainly, in black and grey. On one lapel the familiar six star pattern of the `Great Bear' shone in filigree silver. Margaret stepped forward with an extended hand to introduce herself, "Hi, I'm Margaret Thornell, chairperson of `B5EC', the Babylon five Entertainment Consortium." She pronounced the acronym `beeseck'. The Japanese shook her hand firmly once, with the additional gesture of a small bow. "Masanobu Tajima representing the membership committee of the United Recreational and Sports Associations, URSA." he presented himself, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Thornell." "Please, call me Margaret." insisted the chairwoman. Tajima assented with a nod. "I am afraid Tajima is not as pleasant sounding a name as Margaret." the self-effacing Japanese continued, "But my friends call me `Taji'." "Well Taji, I have arranged quarters for you on Red-3, if you'll follow me I'll show you your rooms." Thornell looked over at the security guard. "Officer Welch will see that you luggage is delivered there safely." Lou started to protest but Margaret cut him off, "And I'll expect your subscription by the end of the week then?" She favoured him with a look of glacial determination. Lou felt the sick fear only a truly efficient bureaucracy can instil. "Of course Ms. Thornell." he said weakly. Relief washed over him as she turned back to her guest and escorted him away. As he took the ident-card of the next passenger in line Welch considered how to slip this past the chief. ---===***===--- Garibaldi sighed, and threw a long suffering look to Ivanova. "Yeah Lou I know how she can be, sometimes I'm behind on my subs too!" he said resignedly, "Okay, I'll find someone to play porter but it'll have to be at the start or the end of their shift, I'm not taking someone off duty just for this." Welch's voice came from the link, "Thanks, Chief!" The signal broke. Ivanova looked askance at the security chief, "I only caught about half of that." "Thornell's been out terrorising the populace again. She's got Lou running around carrying that URSA guy's luggage." explained Garibaldi. "What URSA guy?" Garibaldi started, "Oh that's right, you aren't a B5EC member, you won't have heard." Confused, Ivanova shook her head. "Apparently URSA are looking to ratify B5EC's membership, quite an accolade if it happens. URSA and B5EC will get reciprocal privileges, so a B5EC membership will entitle you to use any URSA facilities Earth-side. Also we get added to fixture circuit for any suitable events, which would raise the station's profile considerably. So more income, more kudos..." "More traffic for me to handle!" Ivanova snorted, "I can see it now, everyone else will slope off to watch the interplanetary `foxy boxing' title fight, and I'll get stuck with having to berth an extra two dozen ships full of sports enthusiasts!" "So what's the problem here?" asked Garibaldi with mock perplexity. He waved his hands in surrender as the furious lieutenant commander drew breath. "Look the commander thinks this'll be good for us!" the security chief persisted, "The more integrated we are with the rest of Earth the brighter our future looks. Believe me, Jeff is rarely wrong about these things!" Ivanova flicked idly at the pile of flimsies Garibaldi's desk. "It'll never happen." she disputed, "Any major sports event on this station will be just that many more targets for the raiders!" "I don't get it." Garibaldi snapped savagely, "We've got a profile to be proud of and no-one with any access to the route data fits it! Hell, nobody even ASSOCIATES with anyone who fits it!" Ivanova started drumming her fingers on Garibaldi's desk. "Is there any way we can identify the raiders' next target?" she suggested, "If we kick their butts a couple of times they might cut their losses and move on." "One, that doesn't solve the problem but just hands it to someone else," the chief enumerated, counting on his fingers with sharp stabbing motions, "two, their information appears to be so comprehensive we'd have to provide escort for a dozen ships at a time. And three, it'd still be worth their while picking on the shipping we didn't cover." Ivanova kept up her rhythmic percussion, staring vacantly at some point four feet to Garibaldi's right. Garibaldi frowned hard at the constantly shifting digits, and when that didn't work he frowned harder their owner. Eventually the wearing vibration of their constant patter bored through his temper and he slapped the desk with a resounding crash. Ivanova jumped nearly a foot out of her chair. "What the hell was that for?" she queried, breathing fast. "Do you HAVE to tap your fingers like that?" "I was just thinking how the raiders might be getting their information?" the lieutenant commander replied defensively. Garibaldi snorted. "There are a thousand ways for the routes to leak from the command staff, and we've covered nine hundred and ninety-seven of them!" The lieutenant raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And the other three?" "They might have compromised the security of our computer system in a way we can't detect." The security chief grimaced at the thought. "If that's the case then we'll have to disassemble the whole station to be sure of finding it." He paused a moment to study Ivanova. "And that's our best option." "What could be worse than the raiders having the complete run of our system?" Ivanova queried perplexed. Chapter 4. Masanobu Tajima watched the players practice with some interest, meanwhile Margaret Thornell watched her guest with similar intent. She chided herself for not thinking of this earlier, baseball WAS also the Japanese national game after all, and from his reaction to her casual mention of the station's diamond it was obvious to her that it was one of his favourite pastimes too. "They are very good for an amateur team." the URSA representative remarked. Reluctantly he took his eyes from the figures drilling on the pitch. Thornell recognised the team from their brown fatigues and white caps. "They're the Babylon `Stevedores', it's a team made up from the dock workers." she explained, "They're currently top of our league, and that's despite the pressures of their work. I think it's because they're most at home with the peculiarities of playing on an O'Neal station." The Japanese looked at her inquisitively. "Because we're rotating round a comparatively close central axis to produce our gravity, when you throw things over a moderate distance they undergo a `Coriolis' effect and curve unexpectedly." Tajima smiled. "Of course, I should have realised." "I've experienced it myself playing tennis. You do get used to it but somehow I doubt we'll ever hold a world series game here." "Or a marathon for that matter." Masanobu added, "Here you really DO hit `the wall' after the first five miles." Thornell just stared at him for a moment before cracking out laughing. Tajima joined in and as their hysterics reinforced each other they started to draw the attention of the players on the field. Margaret drew up short and gripped her side. "Ow, I think I've just laughed myself into a stitch." She waited a moment for the pain to subside. "Taji, how about I show you something we ARE good at." Tajima waved for her to lead on. "After you." he said politely. At once he was all courteous efficiency again, but Margaret caught the quiet twinkle in his eyes and smiled. She could well understand why URSA chose this man as their representative. His disarming, inoffensive demeanour forced people to be themselves, and it was the real B5EC that URSA wanted to see. ---===***===--- "They might be using a telepath." remarked Garibaldi watching Ivanova pale at the suggestion, "In which case all bets are off. Anybody could be the leak, hell they might not even know it. If the raiders have a rogue teep working for them they could be picking the route information straight out of our heads, or from an inside man, without ever having to meet in the flesh." The security officer chose his next words carefully, "If this becomes the most probable explanation, the only way we could know would be to get Ms. Winters to scan ALL C&C staff for signs of another telepath at work." "No way, Garibaldi!" Ivanova spat. "For all we know SHE could be working for the raiders. And even if I was positive she wasn't, no Psi- Corps flunky is getting in my head. EVER!" "It might be only way we can trust our people again." explained Garibaldi patiently, "I'm not saying it'll happen, I'm just raising the possibility." Ivanova changed the subject. "You said there were three methods, what's the other?" "`None of the above'," snorted Garibaldi, "the chance that they're getting their information in some way we haven't thought of." "So all we know is that the raiders are getting their information regularly," started Ivanova, "and that the information is comprehensive and fairly detailed." Garibaldi interrupted, "Maybe not, if it's an inside job they maybe getting details on just the pick of traffic in this sector." "Even so, we don't know how it's being distributed, so we can't say what to look for." Ivanova looked to Garibaldi for suggestions. "So what do we do?" "The only thing we can. Wait for them to slip up." "That's it!?" said the Lieutenant incredulously, "And the ships that are attacked in the meantime?" "Will haunt my dreams for weeks to come, Lieutenant Commander." the security chief replied sternly, "I don't like this anymore than you do, so let's hope they slip up soon!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 8 17:23:23 1996 Date: Thu, 11 Apr 1996 18:15:06 -0100 From: Devious Brownies To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 3. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 5. Ted Dearberg scratched his head absently, a habit that had earned him the nickname `Laurel', and wondered what to do next. The `Sentinels' were due to play the `Red Alerts' but the next time the whole team would be off- shift together was weeks away, necessitating an afternoon of negotiating duty swaps. One of the alien pairs in the contract-bridge club had been caught using a bidding code comprised of clicks high in the ultrasonic where none of the other competitors could hear them, or almost none of them. The Drazi volleyball team, being hermaphrodite, had entered themselves in both the men's AND the women's championships. And about ten percent of the members were late with their subscription payments again this month. The clerk decided to take a ten minute break and read the paper before facing the music. He turned the desk console off with a flick of the wrist and looked around for the Universe Today he'd bought earlier today. The door slid open soundlessly and Margaret Thornell ushered a stranger into Dearberg's office. Ted caught sight of the familiar logo pinned to one lapel and immediately realised who this stranger must be. He stood up and extended a hand while Thornell made the introductions. "Taji, this is Ted Dearberg, B5EC's senior clerk and probably its only indispensable staff member." Margaret presented, "Teddy, this is Masanobu Tajima of URSA." "Mr. Dearberg." acknowledged the URSA representative, shaking the clerk's hand firmly. "Mr. Masanobu." Dearberg returned. Tajima smiled at hearing the correct form of address given. Dearberg continued, "I'm sorry I can't offer you a seat, but as you can see..." He waved a hand expansively, emphasising how full utilised space in the room was. Tajima regarded the boxes of files of records, receipts and related paraphernalia. "Yes, there really IS no such thing as a paper-less office!" he remarked. His eyes came to rest on a small wooden box, long and flat and the thickness of two books. Incongruously amidst all the signs of productivity, this was an object whose sole purpose was enjoyment, an enjoyment he knew well. He looked back to Dearberg. "I see you play chess, Mr. Dearberg." "Why, yes I do." the clerk replied, surprised. Thornell cut in. "Teddy runs the chess league here on the station." she explained, "He's probably one of the best players here." The Japanese smiled at some obscure humour in her words. "I would be very interested to see some of the games, if you don't mind?" he asked. Again Dearberg started to search for the newspaper. "Just a tick." He cackled triumphantly. "Here, I publish the results in the local edition of UT. The latest matches are in today's as it happens." He handed the paper over to Masanobu. "I must say," Ted commented, "I am surprised to find a Japanese who is interested in chess." Tajima nodded. "Yes, gomoku is still traditionally the strategy game most Japanese learn." he agreed, "However I had four older brothers who were always that one step ahead of me. So when I realised I could not hope to defeat them at gomoku I searched for a more even battlefield." "And chess was that battlefield?" "No, I found that in chess I was the one who was one step ahead." Masanobu corrected with a smile. His attention was drawn to Margaret Thornell. "Are you all right, Ms. Thornell?" he queried. The woman was looked pale, almost shocked, small beads of sweat adorned her temples. She smiled in reassurance, but the gesture was strained. Thornell saw Tajima's concern grow. "Just a touch of indigestion!" she assured, "I think sometimes I'm a little too adventurous in trying alien cuisine." She suppressed her discomfort and quickly moved on to the next order of business. "Ted, Mr. Masanobu will need to inspect our organisation and clerical records, do you mind if I route your primaries to my office? It will mean you'll have to work with the backups." Ted Dearberg shrugged, "I have mainly viva-voce jobs lined up anyway. Sure, I'll patch them through while you make your way there." Dearberg sat down again and re-activated his console. "Thanks, Teddy." Thornell acknowledged, opening the door for Masanobu. The Japanese bowed to Dearberg, who replied with a nod. After they left, the clerk finished up the transfer and shut off his terminal for a second time. He gazed wistfully in the direction he'd last seen his newspaper disappear in, then drew a deep breath and resumed working. Chapter 6. Sinclair kept up the light jog as he finished dressing. He'd been showering when the alarm had come in and consequently felt particularly dishevelled. He turned his head slightly at a flash of white in the corner of his eye and just caught sight of Delenn's shocked face as he shot by, he made a mental note to apologise later. Despite his intensity, the commander allowed himself a small smile, he knew it wasn't really necessary that he apologise, but it was a good excuse to spend some more time with the intriguing Minbari woman who served as their Ambassador. The door to C&C was unable to react in time to his headlong approach and Sinclair stamped down hard to avoid a collision with it. He ducked through impatiently when it was only half open. He saw his lieutenant commander studying the monitors intently. "Report!" he demanded of her. Ivanova turned and belatedly Sinclair realised she looked shaken. She drew herself to attention. "Sir, the raiders have hit again, this time the cargo and passenger transport `Tucker's Luck'" she related, "Our last report from them had them at the mouth of the way-gate near Barnard's star, it stated that the raiders has taken out their port thrusters, then we lost contact." "Any indication that they made it to hyperspace?" "Nothing definite. As far as we can tell the jump-gate WAS activated, but," the lieutenant commander paused, "their final telemetry indicated that they were on a collision course with the gate itself, and without manoeuvring thrusters..." Sinclair's face set hard at the implication in the hanging sentence. "Where's Garibaldi?" he asked. "Mr. Garibaldi is prepping to go out with Delta wing." Ivanova explained, "They'll launch as soon as we have somewhere for them to go." "Commander," Lieutenant Corwin interrupted, "The jump gate is activating!" The two senior officers turned their attention to the monitor. They winced as a broken travesty fell from the blue-shifted whirlpool of higher space. Muffled gasps of horror or astonishment came from more than one station on the command deck. Once it had been a ship, now it trailed streams of white hail from fissures and rents in the battered hull. Nearly the whole aft-port quarter of the ship was missing, just torn from the superstructure as if by the hand of some petulant colossus. Ivanova retreated from the sight of this tumbling tragedy into the pragmatism of duty. "There are still life signs." she noted tonelessly, adding, "Not enough to cover the whole roster." Sinclair turned on Corwin. "Any risk of collision?" "They should miss us easily, sir." the lieutenant replied, then looked sick, "But not the planet. Sir, with their present velocity they won't even make it through the atmosphere!" Sinclair snapped out an order to his second, "Launch Delta wing, they'll have to stabilise the transport and try and nudge it into an orbit that'll bring it past the station as soon as possible." As Ivanova dispatched the star-furies, the commander called to Corwin, "Lieutenant, find out what Delta wing's best option is and send the data directly to their flight computers." He slapped his link, "Sinclair to Med-lab." The delay seemed interminable but soon enough the answer came. "Franklin here." came the doctor's voice, almost lost in the bustle of the animated control room. "Doctor, we have a stricken transport on a collision course with the planet, we're going to have to be pretty rough if we're to save her. It's already likely there are many casualties and after Delta wing are done there'll likely be many more." "Understood." Franklin replied calmly, "I'll prepare the med-labs for all they can handle." "Tell Dr. Hernandez to gather as much assistance as she thinks she'll need and meet me in shuttle bay four, stat!" Sinclair added, "I want her on hand when we evac!" Ivanova heard his remark and as her turned to leave she stepped into his path. "Sir!" she protested, "There really is no need for you to go out there!" Sinclair's anger rounded on her. "Yes there is Lieutenant Commander." he remarked savagely, "It's my patch of space these people are dying in, damn it! I will NOT stand by and watch." He pushed past her and stormed out of the now quiet C&C, one silenced by the passion in his voice. Susan looked calmly through the observation window at the receding wing of furies dancing like fireflies towards the plunging semi-wreck. Lit by the Epsilon sun, and with a train of leaked fuel and fluids and atmosphere, the Tucker's Luck parodied the beauty of a comet. Glorious in its tragedy. The lieutenant commander's hands clenched and unclenched with frustration and her thoughts turned to the raiders. she prayed. ---===***===--- "We all knew Peter as the joker in the pack." commented the chief engineer, "And as a man who professed to have no worries, no fears. I once asked him if he thought he was going to live forever to which he replied, `I won't know unless I die.'" There was subdued laughter from the room. Chief Sommers looked around at the faces, both unknown and familiar, of those who had chosen to attend this memorial. She was gratified to see the station commander and his staff sitting unobtrusively to the rear of the auditorium, amid the many passengers who had also elected to attend the late evening service. "Now that sad day has arrived, and I can only say that it is here too soon by far. But I give thanks that Peter Ashwani Paharia died as he lived; with honour, with c..." Liz Sommers' voice choked briefly and she stopped a moment to regain her composure before continuing, "with honour, with courage, and while trying to help others! I pray I may meet my fate with his dignity. Now Captain Moss would like to say a few words." With silent tears she relinquished the stand to the captain, who moved with obvious pain, one arm pinned immobile in it's dress uniform. Edward Moss paused at the lectern in thought, and the melancholy silence rang loud. He started to speak, "Never in life did Peter give up hope, and everything he turned he hand to he did with a determination to make it RIGHT. Not ever was this more so than in his final moments." The captain's eyes re-focused beyond the walls, beyond the station, to some distant infinity. "While his ship drifted helpless towards the gate, Peter worked alone in the vulnerable crawl-spaces near the outer hull to restore some mobility and avert the disaster. And it is a testament to his skill that we were able to lessen the impact as much as we did. Though the crawlers were ruptured in the collision, the semi-lunar emergency valves would have retarded the loss of atmosphere long enough for Peter to easily make it to safety, but it was not in Peter's nature to take such `half measures'. He worked as long as there was air to provide minimal life support to as much of the ship as possible. He paid dearly for all our lives, let us never forget him." Moss paused to pull a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. "I'd like now to read a brief passage from one of Peter's favourite works, FitzGerald's `The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam';" He took a moment to get his place on the page in front of him. "`The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.'" Liz Sommers put out an arm to steady her officer as he struggled off the stand to his waiting chair, she offered him a quiet smile of appreciation as she retook her place. As the other patrons stood, she pressed the button to open a prearranged channel to the shuttle carrying Paharia's body. "From the stars we came. To the stars we return. From now until the end of time." After a moment's silent attention to the gently crolling panorama out side, the gathering started to leave. Soon only Sinclair and Garibaldi remained. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 8 17:23:25 1996 Date: Thu, 11 Apr 1996 19:34:57 -0100 From: Devious Brownies To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 4. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 7. Michael watched his commander watch the stars. Though the view WAS spectacular, the security chief knew with a surety that it played no part in Sinclair's thoughts. He guessed what was coming, and with every passing moment of silence Garibaldi's trepidation grew. he thought to himself, As if on queue, Sinclair turned to face his security chief. As Garibaldi had suspected, he looked far from happy. When he spoke though, his voice remained calm. "What was the final tally?" he asked simply. "Seventeen dead, thirty-five survivors." grimaced Garibaldi, "And most of those have some sort of injury." "Serious?" "Mostly concussions or abrasions, the odd broken bone. No-one's on the critical list, Jeff, but some of them are pretty bad!" The chief paused, unsure how to phrase his next sentence. "The worst part is, they were damn lucky. If the ship hadn't been well ahead of schedule the raiders would have caught them hours from the nearest gate. And then..." "Tell me you can stop this now!" Sinclair demanded. He felt the injustice of off-loading so heavily on Michael twist in his chest. But he swallowed his guilt and persisted. The scene had dragged long shunned memories up from his subconscious, and he was helplessly reliving the anger born of frustration he had experienced watching those other funerals, listening to those other eulogies. On every occasion the same sentiments were raised; they died for us, let us not forget. In a wash of self loathing Sinclair realised that that is precisely what he had done. To spare himself the hurt, to hide from the pain, he had forgotten them. Some of the fire died in his eyes. He spoke again to Garibaldi, softer, quieter but still an order. "Tell me this is the last!" Garibaldi wilted under the stare and looked down at the floor, unable to stand the accusation in his friend's eyes. "Sorry, Jeff," he apologised, "we've got zip." He strived to explain the failure without sounding like he was justifying it. "We know that the raiders are picking their targets from our data, and it looks pretty certain they're getting regular and extensive updates to the shipping timetable. So whatever we know, they know. And that could extend to any counter-measures we try to take." "They can't be receiving that amount of information without leaving some sort of trace." Jeff argued. "You'd think so," Garibaldi agreed, "but we've gone down every route the data might take to get off this station and drawn a blank. If there's a leak, we can't find it, and if there isn't a leak then the raiders must be tracking their victims with clairvoyants." Garibaldi coughed uncomfortably. "Which brings me to another problem." Sinclair's eyes narrowed. Mentally he reviewed Garibaldi's last few statements, he had his suspicions about what was coming. "Go on." he prompted. Michael surmised his superior's thoughts correctly. "Yeah, telepaths." he confirmed, "There's a good possibility that the reason we can't find a link is because halfway down the chain it's going directly from one mind to another." The security chief shifted uncomfortably, "Trouble is there's only one way to know for sure whether it's a rogue teep or not." "And that's to have Miss Winters scan the whole operations staff." Sinclair finished for him. Garibaldi snorted, "And then some! But not Talia, Jeff." Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "She's part of this station, she could be involved. No, if we really suspect a rogue, we'd have to call in the Psi-corps, and you know who they'd send." Remembering Ivanova's reactions, Michael shook his head, "I can tell you now, some people will come up with a hundred valid reasons why they won't allow a Psi-cop to paw through their mind!" Sinclair's face set hard, he was determined to be resolute despite his own distaste. "If you don't make some progress soon, I'm going to want to hear those reasons first hand!" he growled, "I have always believed I can trust the people under my command, but one more attack and either I'll KNOW I can trust them, or I won't have them here!" "Jeff, if you try to make people take a mind-scan, some of them will take it all the way to Earth-dome. The senate could break you with this, and some of 'em will try!" Michael protested, "Don't give Earth-gov another stick to beat you with!" Sinclair stared levelly at his chief of security. "Seventeen people this time, Michael. How many next time? And the time after that?" He shook his head. "If someone won't accept a scan to save maybe a hundred lives then they can pursue their careers elsewhere! I'll do it without prejudice, but I WILL transfer them!" "I'm just saying that we had better be damn sure it's a teep before we do this!" Garibaldi warned. The commander caught Garibaldi's deliberate use of `we'. he thought. He smiled at his security chief. "`We' promise not to do anything rash, okay?" he assured him. Michael just nodded in reply. With a last glance at the stars, he turned and left the room. With Garibaldi following loyally a pace behind him. Chapter 8. Ted Dearberg started at the smart rap Masanobu used to draw attention to himself. He realised that he must have accidentally locked his door open, disabling the chime. While desperately trying to swallow his breakfast he flailed around with the `coffee' and Danish searching for a safe place to put them down. Eventually, when he was settled, he greeted the URSA representative warmly, "Mr. Masanobu, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, how can I help?" The Japanese bowed penitently. "It is I who should be sorry for disturbing your meal." Dearberg waved the matter aside and Tajima continued, "I am supposed to meet again with Ms. Thornell at lunch and I had hoped to pass the morning reviewing some more of your chess matches." He scrutinised Dearberg levelly, "If you have no objection, that is?" Ted smiled jovially. "I have just what you want!" he answered. Pulling open the bottom drawer of he desk he slid out a dull, black box- file. Inside were a pile of folded papers which he passed over to Tajima with a cryptic smile. "I keep all the old UTs with matches in to settle any arguments over scoring, they're dated and they're hard-copy." he explained, "And to be honest, I get a little vain seeing my name being in print!" Masanobu unfolded the top paper and glanced through it casually. "Thank you, this is fine." he replied. He turned to leave. "It won't do you any good!" the clerk called after him. Startled, Tajima turned, he regarded Ted quizzically. Dearberg continued, "You'll learn nothing by studying their games, believe my I've tried!" "Sorry?" Tajima appeared genuinely puzzled. "I've seen it a dozen times; they start some strategy you'd SWEAR was a washout, then ten moves later you're three pawns down. I tell you I've spent hours analysing some of them to no effect, every time it's a new variation." The clerk's patter seemed born of some private reverie. "I mean it, some of those aliens just don't THINK like we do!" Dearberg caught himself and shook off the fancy, he smiled again at the URSA representative. "I often think that if I could only crack it, I could write a book on non-human styles of play. It'd make a killing!" Tajima indulged him with a nod. "I am sure you are right." he agreed, "But believe me that was not my intention." Dearberg raised his hands in surrender. "If you can manage it, do it! But do you know what I REALLY want?" he asked rhetorically, "I want to play the Vorlon, Kosh! Can you imagine what you might learn?" "Have you ever asked him?" Tajima inquired, politely. Slight changes in his expression and posture revealed a genuine interest in Dearberg's folly. "I did meet him once, yes, and I asked him if he'd like to try an Earth strategy game. He said, `My pieces do not move on a board.' and strolled away." Dearberg shivered involuntarily. "I tell you, just that one sentence kept me awake nights for a week!" Masanobu laughed lightly. "Ah yes, I believe that is a common reaction when faced with the inscrutable." he joked. He made his leave while the clerk smiled at the culture reference. Outside in the corridor, Tajima felt his stomach rumble. He though of the clerk's pastry, and of the many fascinating dishes he had glimpsed on yesterday's tour. he decided, ---===***===--- Unobtrusive and unremarked, the figure watched Masanobu query and sample and choose half a dozen different dishes from the many cuisines available in the Circle food hall. These he supplemented with an individual pot of tea and, incongruously, a small beer. The watcher noted his progress to a free table, and the careful way he arranged the pile of newspapers around the tray. As the diminutive Japanese sat down to his meal, the onlooker, apparently satisfied, walked quietly away through the crowd. They made their way down the many corridors of the station using their very familiarity to passers-by as a disguise. They reached their goal unchallenged, then waited impatiently for the area to become quiet enough for the work at hand. Eventually it was, and with a muffled grunt the figure drew a tiny tube from its breast pocket and approached the apartment door. It looked much like a pen but when depressed the switch propelled not a nib but a needle, finned and wicked and glistening. The sulking form carefully drew the point an inch down the door-jamb, just above head height. With painstaking care the individual pulled their hand level across the face of the door, careful not to let the tip touch the surface, while being equally careful to maintain an even motion. That done, they drew the needle up an inch of the opposite door frame, at an identical height to the first stroke then pulled the `pen' away with a flick of the wrist. They retracted the stylus and carefully scrutinised the end of the instrument before, gingerly, replacing it in their pocket. Now it was just a matter of time. ---===***===--- Masanobu Tajima strode into his apartment and laid the papers neatly at the edge of the room's desk. He stared levelly at them for a moment, while his doubts resurfaced. he thought to himself angrily, He felt himself blushing, something he had not done for many years and snorted in self-loathing. "I am becoming a foolish, old man before my time!" he snapped, and chided himself for even considering letting the matter rest. He took a couple of deep breaths to relax, and to gather his courage, before activating the desk console before him. "Please state the service you require." came the measured, artificial tones of the computer. "Place a person to person call with the head of station security." "There is restricted access to that person's monitor." the machine warned, "Do you wish another service?" "Please advise the head of security I wish to speak with him. It is urgent." The computer paused ominously. "Please insert your ident-card in the slot on the right hand side of the console in front of you." Tajima complied, absently wiping the sweat from his brow at the same time. "Please wait." the computer advised. Suddenly Garibaldi's face replaced the Babcom logo. "This is Garibaldi, the computer says it's urgent Mister..." "Masanobu, Masanobu Tajima." he supplied, adding as an explanation, "I am visiting Babylon 5 as the official representative of URSA." "The entertainment people?" the security chief questioned incredulously, "Listen, games aren't exactly foremost in my thoughts right now!" "Nor mine, Mr. Garibaldi." Tajima interrupted, "I am calling because I believe I have found evidence of a smuggling operation." He became aware that he felt increasingly on edge. His nerves were raw and his heart raced. "This had better not be about someone knocking off a couple of dozen Ping-Pong balls, or you're in REAL trouble pal!" Garibaldi glared out of the screen at his caller. "I'm afraid it is something infinitely more valuable." Masanobu started, then paused unsure of how to phrase what he knew without falsely implying something he didn't. "Someone is smuggling information." "Woah!" the security man exclaimed, "That subject conceals today's star prize! Just tell me who, how and where!" "It is rather complicated." Tajima demurred, "If you'll give me time to make a few notes I could show you in about half an hour?" At the other end of the line, Garibaldi reluctantly nodded his agreement. Masanobu smiled cryptically. "I CAN tell you where they've hidden something of such import, however." he hinted slyly, "In plain sight!" He broke the connection. In the new quiet of the room his mischief waned, and Tajima blinked absently a few times as he struggled to remember what he had been about to do. Dragging back his senses, he took a small pad from his jacket pocket and started to jot some keywords on a fresh page. As he sat in thought he noticed the words he'd just written dance and blur, and belatedly Tajima began to realise how bad he was feeling. His breathing was growing ragged in his ears, his muscles were stiff and painful to move. Fear started to overtake him as he felt a migraine develop second by second. As the agony swept him away he stretched towards the desk console, desperately fighting to co-ordinate the burning movements of his arm to the murky images he perceived. The tell-tale light of the console was swallowed up by a black, writhing, shapeless pit that rapidly expanded to fill his world. And then end it. As Masanobu Tajima's body slumped forward, the outstretched hand dropped, slack and lifeless, onto the precisely folded pile of newsprint. Unbalanced, they tipped from the table to land in the bin below. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Thu May 9 20:11:24 1996 Date: Thu, 9 May 1996 13:11:47 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 5. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 9. Garibaldi rang the door-chime for a forth time, on this occasion he let his finger rest there for several seconds. Faintly through the door he could here the tinny fanfare, though no other sound came from inside. He waited for a long ten-count, then banged on the door a few times in a less than gentle fashion. Again there was no answer. Michael spoke into his link, "Garibaldi to Security office." "Security office, go ahead Chief." "Jack?" the chief queried, "Has anyone come looking for me?" "All quiet here, sir." his aide replied. Garibaldi uttered an off-handed thanks as he dropped the connection. Either he was being messed around, or something was wrong. And URSA's official representative to this station didn't strike Garibaldi as the kind of person to likely to mess around. he thought to himself. Impulsively, he flipped out his key-card and over-rode the lock on the door. It swung back into the interior of the wall with a whisper. After his first look, Garibaldi closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He let it out slow before allowing his eyes to open again. The body lay across the table like a puppet freed of its strings. The left arm stretched towards the desk console, but fell short by the few inches absorbed into the crook of the wrist and elbow. The hand lay empty, wrist upwards, in a near graceful gesture. Under the chair, Garibaldi could see that the man's feet had fallen so that the heels crossed, while the toes pointed back towards the door. The right arm curled under the body t lie in its lap, while the head lay on one side. Death, with its macabre humour, had given the man an almost balletic pose, a theatrical posture. Walking slowly towards the body, Garibaldi reactivated his link. "Med- lab." he requested quietly. "This is Med-lab." came Hernandez's voice. It echoed loud in Garibaldi's ears in the unnatural quiet of the room. "Doctor, this is Garibaldi, I've got a dead body in Red-3, room 77." he paused as he studied Masanobu's face. The eyes were wide and sad, and dead. The expression was peaceful, apart from a slight furrowing of the brow that gave just a suggestion of surprise. "There's no obvious signs of violence on him." he continued, "Could you come down here and tell me what he died of?" "I'm on it." replied the doctor and the link went dead. "Garibaldi to Security." "Yes, sir." answered his aide. "I'm in 77 on Red-3, send Lou down here with some help and the scene- of-crime kit." "Sure thing." Jack acceded, then, "What's up?" Garibaldi considered his reply for a long moment. "You might want to tell the commander there's been a development on the raiders case." he reported, before pausing again, "Are you a B5EC member, Jack?" "Yes, Chief." came the puzzled reply from the link, "Why?" "Just don't hold your breath waiting for your URSA card!" Garibaldi commented bitterly. He broke the connection and started to wait. ---===***===--- Lou Welch shook his head softly and sighed. "Sir?" he called. "What is it Lou?" Garibaldi asked. The chief made his way over to where Welch stood waiting. "I downloaded the log from the door, like you asked." Welch started, gesturing at the room's wall console, "He went out early morning, came back a couple of hours later, then no-one until you overrode the lock and found him." "So he must have opened the door to his killer." the security chief mused, "That means he probably knew them." He raised an eyebrow. "THAT should narrow the field down a bit!" Garibaldi noticed that Welch was shaking his head slowly. "What?" he asked. "Mr. Tajima locked his door from the INSIDE when he came back at eleven-seventeen hours." Lou pointed out, "The door then stayed locked until you opened it at thirteen-seven." Garibaldi started to reply but was interrupted by his link. "Garibaldi here." he answered it. "This is Dr. Franklin," came the familiar voice, "I've finished the autopsy you requested." "That was quick!" Garibaldi remarked, suspiciously. "So it should be, Mr. Garibaldi," Franklin retorted, "in a case of death by natural causes." "No way!" "Heart failure, brought about by toxic shock." the doctor insisted, "From the stomach contents, I'd say that the deceased had an allergic reaction to an alien food, and the stress triggered cardiac arrest." "Why not `toxic' as in poison?" queried Garibaldi. The doctor's voice gained a strong note of annoyance. "Because a poison would have shown up in the blood tests. The only blood abnormality detected was an extremely high level of leucocytes, and that is consistent with an allergenic reaction. Now if you'll excuse me I have OTHER patients to tend to." Garibaldi heard the doctor mutter something at a volume below comprehension as the connection lapsed. he thought to himself, The security chief closed his eyes tight and tried to remember why he liked this job, it certainly wasn't for the money. Chapter 10. Sinclair pondered this new incident as he walked unhurriedly down the corridors of Red-3. Michael finding a dead body while investigating a possible lead on the leak, it was all getting very messy. His reverie was broken by the sight of a small cluster of grey uniforms stood in a doorway to his right, he could hear his security chief's rapid-fire patter carrying faintly from the room within. "...EVERYTHING, Jack," Garibaldi admonished, "I want you bag EVERYTHING! Hey, Lou, Franklin said the guy had just eaten. Flash his picture round all the food halls, find out who served him." "Okay, Chief. What do you want to know?" came another voice, which Sinclair deduced must belong to Officer Welch. "Find out what he ate, if he was with anybody, and what he or they were doing?" Garibaldi replied, "I want as complete a picture of this guy's movements as possible. Go!" Sinclair stepped up to the doorway just as Lou Welch made to leave. The security officer had his head down, studying his portable reader intently, and failed to notice the commander's presence. Sinclair took a pace backwards, while thrusting forward a hand to ward off the imminent collision, forcing Welch to pull up sharp. Somewhat unnerved, Lou steadied himself against one side of the opening and waved the commander through. "Sorry, sir!" he vouched, "After you." "Thank you, Mr. Welch." Jeff replied. They exchanged salutes and Sinclair moved unobtrusively around the edge of the room. He watched for several minutes as his chief of security effortlessly organised the investigation, before finally making his way over to where Garibaldi stood. "I passed by Dr. Franklin's office on the way here." the commander stated, "This seems like a lot of effort for a death by natural causes." Garibaldi raised a sceptical eyebrow. "IF that's what it is." "There's some doubt?" "Just that it's damn convenient for somebody that this guy keeled over when he did." Michael explained, "This guy might have been the slip-up we were waiting for, Jeff." "You think he was involved with the raiders?" Sinclair queried, "I thought he was a recent arrival to the station." Garibaldi nodded in assent. "He got here yesterday." he commented, "Today, he calls me out of the blue claiming to have discovered a data- smuggling operation." Sinclair's eyes went wide. "Yeah, `Bingo'!" Garibaldi remarked, "But just as he's getting it together to met with me..." "He has a heart-attack." the commander finished, "You're right, it's too much of a coincidence!" Garibaldi gazed searchingly at the chair, which stood poignantly ajar. "One minute he's the answer to our prayers, the next minute he's the subject of them." The chief of security shook his head. "I don't even know if he had family, the poor bastard!" Sinclair was looking carefully around the room. "Was there anything in the room that might give us a clue to what he knew?" Garibaldi picked a small paper pad from the desk next to him. "Like what he was writing when he died?" he suggested, proffering the book to the commander. Sinclair studied the page. "`Book', `weak', `long' and `absurd'." he read, adding, "And `Queen', written half way down the page. What does it mean?" Garibaldi shrugged. "Maybe he was a classical music buff, beats me! Oh, and you can add to that `plain sight'." Sinclair just looked at him quizzically. "That's where he said the data was hidden." he explained. "And you have nothing else to go on." "Jeff, this guy was fastidious with a vengeance!" Garibaldi remarked, he kicked the bucket near his foot absently, "Hell, he even precisely folded his old newspapers." Commander Sinclair frowned. Something in what Garibaldi had said jarred discordantly in the back of his mind. He felt on the verge of being able to articulate his discomfort when Garibaldi's link sounded. His train of thought derailed, Jeff nodded his permission to the security chief. "Garibaldi." "Mr. Garibaldi, this is Dr. Hernandez." came the dark-honey voice. "What's up Doc?" Garibaldi asked, he smiled as Jeff pulled a pained expression. "One of your officers, Lou Welch, has just been admitted with a serious cardiac seizure. I think you had better come down here." Garibaldi threw a paled glance at the commander. "He IS going to be all right?" Hernandez paused. "I really think you had better come down here!" she replied finally. ---===***===--- "He's fibrillating again!" Sanchez screamed. She tore open the cottonite smock she had just dressed the unconscious Welch in and started to drag his trolley back to the theatre area. Across the room, Franklin abandoned the conversation he was holding with Chief Garibaldi and ran to help her. "Get the lumbar support under his back and start him on the artificial respirator." the doctor ordered. As the nurse started to hook up the machinery, Franklin ran his medical scanner over the ailing security guard. He swore frustratedly as the readings exactly mirrored those of Welch's two previous attacks. Franklin screamed inside. He reached a decision. "The resuscitator isn't stabilising his condition, merely giving temporary relief." Stephen addressed Sanchez, "It's almost as if it's a congenital heart defect. So let's treat it like one, break out the arachnin and give him 2 ml now and rig another 10 to a four hour drip." Sanchez spared herself the time to take in the Doctor's expression. The surety was missing, she decided, and in it's absence he was gambling with a man's life. As she loaded the hypodermic spray, the nurse thanked God for making her so poor at physics that a doctor's career had been beyond her. Garibaldi walked over to stand behind Franklin. He knew full well that he wasn't welcome to do so, but in this case the doctor would just have to bear it. He waited until the flurry subsided, and the doctor felt Lou was stable enough to be moved again. Leaving this task to the nurse, Franklin turned on Garibaldi, clearly irritated at the chief's continued presence. But it was the security man who spoke first. "Something in that room got to him, Doc! Just like it got to Masanobu Tajima." Michael asserted. "An invisible poison that doesn't leave traces? That's just a paranoid fantasy, Mr. Garibaldi, ALL drugs leave traces." Franklin contested. "So keep searching until you find those traces, because I'll bet you every cent I'll ever make that these are NOT due to `natural causes'!" Before the doctor could reply again, Garibaldi stalked across the room and grabbed a chair. He dragged it to Welch's bedside and sat down heavily, arms crossed firmly in front of him. The determined look the chief threw at the doctor dared him to try and make Garibaldi leave. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Thu May 9 20:11:27 1996 Date: Thu, 9 May 1996 13:21:01 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 6. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 11. Drums. Drums by the sea. Low, slow, insistent drums. The tide races in the night. The softly crashing waves, invisible in the dark, make only sound. Wrong. All wrong. Too weak to fight the tide. Strong currents, deep currents, drawing downwards. A dark, moon-less, summer night. The new moon brings a warm rip- tides. Leading deeper, to where it's safe. To where the drums stop. No beaches on Babylon 5. The drums, something familiar about the drums! The callous drums that seek to deceive. That promise so much, yet give only pain. Teasing their victims with their uneven beat. Short-long, short-long, like a march for a crippled man. Like a heartbeat. The drumming subsided, until it became again just the beat of a heart. The rushing tides receded into the soft seething of blood through the ears. The darkness softened and tinted, then fled like twilight before the dawn as Lou tentatively opened his eyes. All he could see was a ceiling, one that seemed oddly familiar. Disjointed fragments of memory confused and distracted him. Falling towards the cold, grey deck. Strangers staring at him with horror, fear. A woman, a brunette, her face determined, tearing his clothes off. Then coursing tides of sensation, and the prickling of electricity playing under his skin. "What a rush!" he said, and somewhere a frog croaked. With a start, Lou realised that the frog was his voice. To his left, Lou heard the abrupt squeal of a shifting chair. "Doc?" came Garibaldi's voice. Then the man himself moved into Welch's field of vision. "Doc, he's awake!" Welch struggled to speak. "Shh-uhhh!" he heard himself saying, he tried again, "Chief!" He tried to roll onto his left side, fighting the pain in his chest and shoulders. With gentle insistence, unseen hands forced him down again onto his back. Oddly comic, Dr. Franklin's upside-down face hovered above him. "Try not to move about." the doctor advised. Shaking his head, Lou started to flail about with his arms. The motions were slow and weak and Garibaldi caught them easily. "Listen to your doctor, Lou!" Garibaldi ordered, there was a snort from Franklin that the Chief pretended not to hear, "We CAN manage without you for a few days." Welch struggled to make himself understood. "Numb." he said, "Numb in the arm!" "That's not uncommon in cases like yours." Doctor Franklin told him, "Feeling should return in..." "Before!" the security officer interrupted, "Arm went numb before! Where I touched the door." Welch collapsed back, apparently satisfied. Garibaldi was already on his link. "Zack, forget searching the room, the poison's on the door! Get a fluoroscope team down there and go over every inch of the damn thing until you find it." He broke the connection even before the officer could reply. He glanced over to Franklin, "It looks like I've won our bet. I'm really going to enjoy getting two salaries." Franklin looked askew at Garibaldi. "OUR bet!?" he queried, "I never agreed to any bet!" Garibaldi gave Lou a knowing look. "NOW he doesn't remember it!" he said, "I'd count your kidneys after this one's been near you!" Welch chuckled weakly, then yelped as his chest objected to the sudden movements. "Only hurts when you laugh, huh?" Garibaldi commented. Alternately wheezing and wincing, Lou waved for his chief to leave him alone. ---===***===--- "I can't see anything!" Ivanova remarked testily. The doorway was too cramped for three people, necessitating that Garibaldi use either her or the commander for support. Garibaldi's hand sat uneasily, low on her shoulder as she crouched, and she half suspected him of deliberately planting this `evidence' as an excuse for a grope. "I should imagine that's the point." replied the security chief. "Even with a fluoroscope, we almost missed it!" To emphasise his point, he waved over Zack Allen, who was carrying a broad-band light source and several sets of goggles. The three officers held the goggles over their eyes while Allen tuned the lamp into the UV. "I STILL can't see anything!" complained Ivanova. "I can." Sinclair contradicted, "There's a very fine scintillation just down the side, there." The commander made to point out the phenomena. Ivanova felt Garibaldi's hand disappear from her back as he grabbed Sinclair's wrist. "Be very careful, Jeff," the security chief warned, "What ever it is, it's VERY effective! There was another line just like it on the opposite side." Garibaldi remarked, "That one was scraped off and sent down to medical for analysis." Intrigued, the lieutenant commander regarded the door more closely. She became aware of a very fine line of speckles running a quarter the length of the door jamb. Ivanova shook her head, rejecting the idea that these pin-pricks of light could ever kill a man. "I don't get it." she admitted, finally, "How can drawing two lines on a doorway kill someone?" "Those `lines' are the two halves of a very fine glass tube that was stretched across the entrance." the chief explained, "The tube is dosed with some drug or other. When the target walks into it, the glass breaks on contact, releasing the poison into the very fine cuts the ends leave in the skin." Garibaldi shrugged. "This stuff is finer than a spider-web, the victim would barely even feel it. And that's not all!" "Whoever did this was well versed in the technique." Sinclair supplied. Garibaldi nodded, while Ivanova just looked askance at the commander. "They started the strand with a down-stroke and finished with an upstroke." Jeff explained, "So when it broke, cohesive forces between the door and the ends drew them smoothly out of the way. Then they could lie undetected until the assassin chose to retrieve them." "You know about this stuff?" The lieutenant commander queried, indicating the door-frame. Sinclair looked from Garibaldi to Ivanova and back. Garibaldi signalled accession with his eyebrows. "It's a black operations technique," Sinclair told her, "and it's intended to be a `perfect crime'." Chapter 12. Jeffrey Sinclair watched his old friend squirm in the chair opposite. The commander well understood how keenly the frustration bit. "Calm down, Michael, no-one is blaming you." he solaced. "I'M blaming me!" Garibaldi contradicted, he paused, "No wait a minute, it's all YOUR fault, I'm blaming you!" Sinclair was taken aback. "MY fault?" he asked, "How is it my fault?" "It was you who talked me into coming here, remember?" the security officer went on, "You could have just left me on Mars, let me throw away my entire career, and end up as some cheesy, night-club bouncer. But no, you have to show me the way up, pave it with good intentions, and here I am. In hell." Garibaldi put on a mock sneer. Jeff laughed. "It was all quite deliberately done to torment you!" he agreed. "With enemies like you," replied Garibaldi, "who needs friends!" Sinclair turned serious. "Well you've got one, Michael." he remarked, "What is REALLY the problem." The security chief stopped fidgeting. Sinclair was shocked at the haunted look on Michael's face. "It's happening again, Jeff." he murmured, "People dying around me, while I just sit and wait for the next blow to fall. I've been here before, and you know what it did to me last time." "It's different now," Jeff consoled him, "none of this is your doing." "Isn't it? How do you know, Jeff. Maybe I'm being too stupid, or too slow. Maybe the raiders are operating out of B5 because they know they'll get an easy ride. Maybe..." Jeff cut him off savagely, "I wouldn't have asked for you if I'd thought for a second you couldn't handle the job. I'll always be your friend, Michael, but that's isn't the reason you're here. You're here because I don't know of ANYONE better at your job than you!" Garibaldi smiled weakly, then was solemn again. "I'm afraid, Jeff." he admitted, "I'm afraid of getting too close. Or of going too fast. What if I screw-up? What if the next person they schedule for a `heart attack' is you, or Ivanova?" "Then I'll be careful." the commander noted, "And you can be careful for Susan." Sinclair paused. "In fact that last bit's an order." "Careful is no good." Garibaldi argued, "You KNOW that!" He gestured around the room, "They could booby-trap any surface you touch, anywhere you walk, anything you bring into contact with your skin. Anything, Jeff!" Sinclair changed the subject. "Have you identified the poison used?" "Franklin's checking a sample now." the chief answered. His link sounded for attention. "Garibaldi." he acknowledged. "This is Doctor Franklin," came the reply from the link, "I have the analysis of that sample you sent me." "Michael, I'm impressed." commented Sinclair with a smile. Garibaldi shot him a `cute' look. "It's similar in composition to a natural plant extract called Ricin, which is derived from Ricinus communis." the doctor paused expectantly. Sinclair and Garibaldi eyed each other warily in a surreptitious attempt to discover if the other knew what the hell Franklin was talking about. Eventually the silence permeated back through the link to the doctor. "The castor-bean plant?" he amended. Garibaldi jumped. "Are you saying this is an EARTH poison?" he questioned. "I'm saying it's a damn close analogue of one." Franklin corrected, "We're trying to derive the exact amino-acid sequence now. That will help determine if this is a natural xenopeptide, or a synthetic derivative." The doctor continued, speaking now with a barely discernible hint of embarrassment, "I expect it to be the latter. The compound works ten times as quickly as Ricin but is just as deadly, that smells of bio-tailoring!" Concerned, Sinclair cut in to the conversation. "And just how deadly IS Ricin, Doctor?" "Well, about five grams is sufficient to kill every human being on the station!" Franklin said, unconcernedly. The doctor closed the connection, while the chief and his commander exchanged horrified looks. Their tableau was interrupted by the chime on the door to the commander's office. "Open." Sinclair instructed. Ivanova entered at her usual brisk pace. She acted completely indifferent her surrounding and stood at attention. Sinclair had never been able to decide whether her demeanour was born of familiarity, or disinterest. "Sir, I have the file on Mr. Masanobu Tajima." the lieutenant commander reported. She pressed a portable data-pad into Sinclair's waiting hand. "Thank you Lieutenant Commander, at ease." Jeff prompted. When she made no perceptible movement, Sinclair amended, "No, REALLY at ease. Pull up a chair." "I'd prefer to stand if you..." Ivanova began, but Garibaldi had already vacated his seat and thrust it towards her while he procured another from a nearby wall. The security chief noticed her brief expression of irritation. "Hey, I warmed it for you and everything!" he pushed. He was awarded with the very `withering look' he'd set out to elicit. Carefully, Sinclair put the reader to one side, watching the stoic Russian carefully as he did so. Slight changes in tension and posture revealed the inner conflict between her intuition and her reserve. "Have you discovered anything interesting about the victim, Lieutenant Commander?" he prompted. "He is a very unremarkable character." Ivanova said carefully, "In fact, in all respects except one he is wholly ordinary." Garibaldi grew suddenly more interested. "And his single oddity?" he queried. "He is, or was, a grand-master at chess." the lieutenant replied. Sinclair slapped the desk in front of him as all his earlier worries crystallised into a single inspiration. "Damn it!" he spat, turning to Garibaldi, "The newspapers, Michael, if he'd only been on the station a day where did he get all the newspapers!" "In plain sight." whispered the security chief, his eyes wide. Savagely, he activated his link with a stab of his finger. "Security office." "Security here." his aide answered. "Jack, did you save the contents of the Japanese's waste bin?" Sounding exasperated, Jack answered, "We bagged EVERYTHING, Chief, just like you said!" "Start going through it." Garibaldi ordered, "And separate out all the old newspapers you find." He cut the link and looked from one officer to the other. "If it IS a chess code, it'll be near impossible to crack." he warned, "And without cracking it we won't have enough for a conviction!" "First we find it, then we stop it, THEN we worry about evidence!" Sinclair growled. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Thu May 9 20:11:29 1996 Date: Thu, 9 May 1996 15:14:23 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 7. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 13. Garibaldi threw another paper sharply over one shoulder, and onto the growing pile behind him. Ivanova watched him snatch the next issue and slap it face down onto the transparent input panel in the security office desk. "Repeat OCR with previous parameters." he ordered. He looked up at the lieutenant commander. "It doesn't look too good for your chess code, theory." he remarked. "MY theory?" she answered sharply, "When did it become my theory? Anyway, just because you haven't found it, that doesn't mean it isn't there!" Garibaldi shook his head, disagreeing, "We've already decided that the raiders are getting REGULARLY updated data, but all of the games played in the last two months check out. The computer says that all moves are valid AND sensible." He nodded towards the second console where Ivanova was sat. "What about the players?" "About sixty percent have washed out so far." replied the lieutenant commander, "The remainder look to be mainly initials, or shortened versions of proper names. Likely candidates are being checked against B5EC's membership records and, any matches eliminated." Ivanova scrutinised the screen briefly. "There ARE a few names that have no reasonable match among the B5EC members. I'm cross-referencing those against arrivals and departures, in case they were signed in as someone's guest." "Well don't eliminate them completely." Garibaldi suggested, "Someone could be using real names as a cover, hoping that the victim won't notice." Ivanova's console chimed. "Wait a minute." she urged, "The computer has found no match at all for one of the names, `Adam Buckland'." Garibaldi scanned log of games on his screen. "Got it. Adam Buckland played Gareth Maslen, and again. And again." He glanced at Ivanova, she confirmed that the other name had not been eliminated with a nod. "It seems they play regularly." he added meaningfully, "I'll check with Ted Dearberg." "Isn't he a suspect?" Ivanova queried. "Yeah, him, half of B5EC, and the entire local staff of `Universe Today', but I've got to start somewhere." The security chief activated his link. "Locate a work address for Ted Dearberg and connect." Their was a lengthy pause before, "B5EC membership office, Dearberg speaking." "This is Security Chief Garibaldi." Michael introduced himself, "What can you tell me about Adam Buckland or Gareth Maslen?" "Not much really, Mr. Garibaldi," Dearberg apologised, "I've never actually met them." "But they're in your chess club!" Garibaldi countered. "Yes, but they book the facilities and enter their matches via the mail." replied the B5EC clerk, "They seem to be more interested in some sort of long-running `grudge match' than in competition play." the was a momentary silence which Garibaldi ascribed to a shrug. "I just leave them to it myself, though..." Dearberg continued, then paused, suddenly uncertain, "The funny thing is, they only ever seem to finish about one game in five. They must just abandon the others." "Yeah, thanks." Garibaldi acknowledged, insincerely, "Look, let me know the next time they play, okay?" "They're down as using the game-room on Red-7 right now, if that's any help." Garibaldi's shouted thanks barely made it before he broke the connection. "Sean Hamilton." he instructed. "Hamilton here." "Sean, grab another three bodies and bring them to the main concourse on Red-6, I'll meet you there." ordered the security chief. Garibaldi snapped his holster on his belt and started to check over the PPG. "Need any help?" Ivanova volunteered, half wistfully. "Well, you could keep checking through these." he suggested, tapping the pile of folded newspapers. He grinned at her outraged sneer, and slipped out of the door before she could recover. ---===***===--- Garibaldi rounded the corner on Red-7 at a trot, only to skid abruptly to a halt. Behind him, Hamilton also pulled up sharply, only to have the other security personnel pile into the back off him. "What is it, Chief?" Sean asked. Wordlessly, Garibaldi took a pace to one side. "What the!?" added the guard. Sat casually in two chairs, a table between them, were Vir and Na'Toth, just beyond them was the door to the game-room. Both languished quietly at ease, facing the same way, and apparently oblivious to each other and to the stares they were drawing. On the table was a small dish of pallid cubes that Garibaldi recognised as spoo, from which one or other of the odd couple would alternately help themselves to a portion. Both looked thoroughly bored. Na'Toth shifted her position slightly, stretching and uncrossing her impossibly long legs, then crossing them again in the opposite manner. Vir tried to appear oblivious to her actions, while all the time watching the lithe motion with equal measure of embarrassment and excitement. As Garibaldi approached, he saw Na'Toth seem to develop an itch on one shin, an itch that she addressed by extending her legs, and rubbing one over the other suggestively. Vir started to look distinctly uncomfortable, and from his vantage, Garibaldi could see that Na'Toth wore a malicious smile behind the hand she held to he chin. The young Centauri noticed the security chief's advance, and leaped on it with uncharacteristic zeal. "Mr. Garibaldi," he stuttered, "how nice to see you." As he got closer, Garibaldi grew aware of the muffled sounds of an argument coming from within the room. He could discern all the roaring, screaming tenor of a full scale brawl, but without any hint of violence in progress. Garibaldi looked from one attache to the other. "Would someone please tell me what the HELL is going on!?" From within the room, the unintelligible roaring redoubled in volume. In unconscious synchrony, both the Narn and the Centauri winced. "Stalemate, I should think." Vir answered. There was another roar. "They're always loudest when it's stalemate!" Deprived of someone to torment, Na'Toth pulled herself to a more upright posture and reached into their common dish. Finding it empty, she tossed it to her nervous counterpart. "Your turn." she commented, laconically. "Excuse me." Vir apologised, and stood up. Stepping round the bemused security guards he started towards the alien delicatessen situated across and further along the causeway. "Oh and be a dear and bring me a glass of Taree!" Na'Toth called after him. She was interrupted be the loudest peal of angry voices yet. "A LARGE one!" she amended, rubbing her temples. Garibaldi resisted the urge to follow her example. "Please tell me what's going one?" he entreated. Na'Toth looked at him with a mixture of a sneer and a smile. Her expression was half coy, half condescending. "Why you're supposed to be a member of a major race, human, you work it out!" Chapter 14. Garibaldi just stood there, with his mouth hanging open, and gawked. Na'Toth had made no objection as he approached the door, so he had overridden the lock and stepped through before she found the energy to think of one. Inside was a small, plain table, covered in green baize and surmounted by a dual-faced clock, a chessboard (with assorted pieces) and the obligatory signal detector. Over the table, however, Ambassadors Mollari and G'Kar stood nose to nose and screamed at the top of their voices into each other's face. The security chief could plainly see the quivering rage each was experiencing, writ large in the hyper-tense muscles of their necks and shoulders. "Face it Mollari," G'Kar roared, "you're beaten! I've broken the back of your attack and exposed your soft, decadent centre!" He punctuated his comments with sharp jabs of his fingers at Londo's midriff, which only just failed to connect. "Resign! And save yourself further humiliation!" "I'll break YOUR back in a minute!" the Centauri Ambassador countered. Mollari started stabbing his finger at the Narn's shoulder, again just falling short of actual contact. "Do you think your pompous bluster will make me move one second quicker? Is all this uproar because you can finally feel my teeth at your throat, eh?" G'Kar gave a short, derisive laugh. "Your attack HAS no teeth, Centauri! I'll pulled them ALL with that knight-fork, a whole FIVE MOVES AGO!" "Pah! So you wish, eh?" spat Mollari, turning his face away. He caught sight of the unbelieving security chief. "Ah, my DEAR friend Mr. Garibaldi." He said, beckoning the equivocal human closer, "You are a fellow warrior, yes? You can clearly see the advantage of my position, yes?" thought Garibaldi to himself, as he mentally judged the distance back through the door to safety. Aloud, he hedged, "Umm, I don't play chess myself." G'Kar chuckled, triumphantly. "He must indeed be a `dear friend' not to shatter your quaint illusions of competence, Ambassador. It is clearly I who shall be victorious!" Garibaldi cut in quickly as Londo drew breath to answer. "Er, do you two do this often?" he hazarded. Mollari nodded. "Yes, weekly!" The security chief shook his head, incredulously. "Why?" The two ambassadors looked at each other, obviously perplexed. Finally, G'Kar answered, "It is a game! We play it for our enjoyment." "I DID suggest that we could make it a little more... interesting." Londo hinted. He waved his hands at the security chief placatingly. "Not for money, you understand, just the occasional compromise. Not that this COWARD would hear of it!" snorted Mollari. "Coward!?" G'Kar thundered, "You would have me wager a whole TREATY against one small concession, and you dare accuse ME of cowardice!" "Hah! Not so self assured when there's something to lose, are we!" the Centauri retorted. "Woah, WOAH!" interjected Garibaldi, followed by a sharp whistle. The two combatants broke off. "What's with the false names?" he asked. Londo's eyebrows shot up. "Mr. Garibaldi, I am surprised at you!" he answered, "You know our respective governments would never condone us meeting socially!" Reaching down, the ambassador moved the black rook along the back rank, pinning G'Kar's bishop against the white queen. "Beaten am I?" gloated Mollari, and smashed his fist down on the switch that stopped his clock and started G'Kar's. "It's time to sacrifice, Narn!" "That's something you could know nothing about!" G'Kar howled, "We learned how to forfeit well under a century of Centauri tyranny!" Turning away, Garibaldi just shook his head. "Socially!" he muttered to himself, activating his link, "Ivanova." "This is Ivanova, go ahead." came the Russian's voice "Lieutenant Commander, it's Garibaldi. This lead's a bust," he said regretfully, "back to square one." Behind him, the two ambassadors' voices swelled as their argument reached new peaks. "Is there a riot going there on I wasn't invited to?" Ivanova asked. "Just about!" conceded the security chief, "I'll explain when I get back." He severed the connection, then winced at another surge of vitriol. Michael shuddered. "Socially!?" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 29 19:42:05 1996 Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 17:53:46 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 8. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 15. "Londo and G'Kar playing chess!?" Ivanova gawked, "You are kidding, right?" Garibaldi shook his head. "Swear to God." he confirmed, "Though to hear them, you'd think they were reliving the last hundred years." Belatedly, he noticed that all the old newspapers had been gathered into a tidy pile by the side of his desk. "How did you get on with the chess games?" he asked Ivanova. "Oh yes." Ivanova noted , as if remembering, "Thank you for that little addition to today's list of irritations. I mean we wouldn't want me getting bored, would we. Heaven forbid I should ever look at anything other than a computer screen." "Pax already!" the security chief sighed, "Next time YOU can run around making a fool of yourself, while I stay sat in the comfortable office. What's your problem?" "Your office is NOT that comfortable!" the lieutenant commander argued. Garibaldi just stared at her patiently until she caved. "all right, enough with the teddy-bear look." she admitted, "I can take care of myself, Michael, and I DON'T like being patronised!" "Hey I wasn't trying to baby-sit you." Garibaldi lied, "I just work better with my own people." He could see she wasn't convinced. "Do you want me to hang around C&C sometime and help you out?" "Try it and you'll be helping Dr. Franklin practise his splints!" Ivanova growled. "Exactly!" remarked Garibaldi, uncomfortably. He shifted his position slightly and tried again. "About the chess games?" "All the players checked out. Although, if that's a good or bad thing..." The Russian shrugged. "The computer says the games are fine, all above board. No particular one, or series, stands out from the rest as being in any way unusual." Ivanova reported. Then hastened to qualify the remark. "But that doesn't mean that one or more of them isn't a chess code." "Yeah? Well we're putting a hell of a lot of effort into this on the basis of diddly-squat." answered Garibaldi, belligerently, "A chess-code able to carry complex information, yet which produces results indistinguishable from a real match? That's like..." "An invisible poison that doesn't leave traces?" Ivanova broke in, innocently. Garibaldi's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Susan just smiled at him. "I decided to find out a little more about Masanobu Tajima, so I had the computer search for any references to him. It seems he wasn't highly thought of as a chess player, despite being a grand master. He appears to have concentrated on theoretical studies of chess, with especial regard to how computers play. Did you know that he was the last human player to beat a computer in tournament play? He won 8-7 against `Deep Purple' in `44." "Hey, I remember!" the chief exclaimed, "Wasn't that an off-shoot of the `Deep Throat' project?" "That's `Deep Thought', Mr. Garibaldi!" Ivanova corrected. Garibaldi put on a hurt look. "It was just a gag." he explained. The lieutenant commander scowled. "What?" Michael queried disingenuously. Susan ignored him. "So my guess is that the chess code is very subtle. Something only a dedicated chess THEORIST would spot." "Oh great!" spat Garibaldi bitterly, throwing his hands up, "I knew my parties had been lacking something, I don't KNOW any chess theorists!" "I do." Ivanova commented quietly. Garibaldi froze, then slowly turned he head to look at her. "A friend I grew up with, Sonya Morisova." she continued, "She's only an international master, but she's biased towards theory, and she knew our murder victim." In response to Garibaldi's raised eyebrows, Ivanova added, "She's one of the references the computer threw up." Garibaldi brought up the Babcom screen on his desk console. "Well let's give her a call!" he said, looking expectantly at Ivanova. "Michael, do you have any idea what time it is in Russia?" Susan snapped at him. Garibaldi shook his head. "About the same as it is here." she supplied, "Late!" Unconsciously, Garibaldi glanced at his watch. "Still, this IS pretty important." the security officer persisted. "I've sent her a message explaining the situation, with a selection of games attached." Ivanova explained, "If I know Sonya, you'll get an answer tomorrow!" Michael looked to be on the verge of protesting further, but Ivanova stared him down. "Look, I've had a long, and not particularly enjoyable, day. I want a shower, a drink, and plenty of sleep." She stood up and made for the door. She stopped just outside. "Coming?" she asked. "Well, all right," Garibaldi replied hesitantly, following her into the corridor, "but it's going to be pretty crowded in your shower with both of us." A passing crew-member giggled as she overhead and Ivanova virtually snarled at him. "Okay, okay!" he surrendered, and the lieutenant commander subsided. He waited just long enough for another crewman to pass close. "You can go first. Just leave me some hot water." "Garibaldi!" came the outraged shout. Chapter 16. Ivanova looked at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. she thought to herself, and glanced in the direction her feet told her was upwards, She finished rinsing and walked towards the Dry-lite. A guard sauntered into the fresher, his grey jacket casually disarrayed. Hands in pockets, he walked with a relaxed roll, his shoulders forming a gentle, comfortable, curve. Susan hated him on sight. Worse was to come. The man whistled - tunelessly, aimlessly, carelessly. Every note, every gesture, shouted how at ease he was with the world. The lieutenant commander glowered at him as he passed. Sensing the attention, the guard turned his head slightly and gave her a greeting smile and nod, and Susan noticed that his sharp, clear eyes sparkled. Under the sterilising brilliance, Ivanova's hands clenched into fists so tight the flesh creaked. She threw another glance `heavenward'. she added. Rejoining the main causeway of Blue-2, Ivanova dragged herself to a more reasonable semblance of consciousness and started in the direction of C&C again. She had seen the commander leaving the cafeteria by himself, just as she had entered. Unusually, Garibaldi had been nowhere to be found and Ivanova had to eat her breakfast alone, and in silence. the lieutenant commander had pondered, With a start Susan had realised she missed watching Garibaldi eat. Reflecting on this fact as she cut through the security section to Blue-1, Ivanova decided that this must be because it made her feel so much better about herself. The lieutenant commander glanced briefly into the security office as she passed, but it was the chief's aide, Jack, who looked up. she concluded, somewhat buoyed, Susan wondered about sending him a wake up call, something not quite loud enough to puncture the hull. With thoughts like these to cheer her, by the time she walked into C&C she was even smiling. Garibaldi was draped over one of the side rails, sharing some anecdote with the two female tech-staff in the pit beneath him. The women were flushed and breathless from laughing, and Ivanova concluded that the story must have been going for some time. "So this guy's hopping up and down a chalk line on the deck," the security chief continued, unaware of Ivanova's arrival, "alternately touching his nose with each index finger, AND singing the whole third act of his favourite Centauri opera, when Ambassador Mollari storms into my office to complain about us hauling his guest in on a `drunk and disorderly'. Well he makes it about as far as `Mr. Garibaldi, I must PROTEST...' before it sinks in what this guy is doing." Garibaldi leaned further over, conspiratorially, "Well Londo just looks me right in the eye, and says, `Great Maker, Mr. Garibaldi, get him into a cell quickly! If G'Kar were to see him like this, I'd never hear the end of it!" The two women's jaws fell open and they gasped convulsively. Their laughter sounded in unconscious harmony, while Garibaldi straightened and bowed, like an artist receiving his applause. Ivanova cleared her throat resoundingly and the technicians fell silent, apart from the odd stifled chuckle. Garibaldi stiffened. "Lieutenant Commander." he greeted her, without turning round. "Have you decided that Franklin DOES need practise setting bones, Garibaldi?" Susan asked him, "Or is this some perverse desire for pain you've been keeping from us?" "I just thought I'd make the journey to see you for a change." the chief explained, defensively. He turned to face her, then took a half step backwards. "Woah!" he exclaimed, "Rough night?" The Russian fumed. "Just what ARE you here for?" she demanded. "You're friend sent a reply early this morning." Garibaldi told her, "So..." He let the sentence hang. "I know, it was waiting for me when I woke up. But I haven't..." Susan paused, "How did YOU know about the message? Have you been reading my mail?" "Reading, no. But I did put a tag on your delivery log." the chief admitted. He saw the lieutenant commander draw breath for an argument. "Hey, it WAS important!" he remarked. Ivanova counted to ten in her head, and let it go. "Okay, THIS time!" she accepted, then continued, "I'll take it in the commander's office. To save distracting anybody further!" She stared around the room at the command staff. Suddenly, everyone looked busy. She walked up the steps to the commander's console, and sat down heavily in the seat. "Computer, play the message from Sonya Morisova." she instructed. While the correct file was found and queued, Ivanova glanced at Garibaldi, who was hovering round the bottom of the stairs like a scolded pet. "Well come on then!" she remarked. Garibaldi made it to the console just as the replay started. The familiar Babcom logo was replaced by Sonya's head and shoulders. Garibaldi whistled. The woman was blonde, her hair falling in gentle waves to frame a delicate, elfin face. A tender mouth was set above her pointed chin, and a softly rounded jaw-line vanished into her high, wide cheekbones. Her eyes were sapphire blue, their size accentuated by her pencil fine eyebrows. "Ouch!" Garibaldi whispered. Ivanova snorted irritably. "Susan!" Sonya began, breaking into a devastating smile, "I was so glad to get your message, it seems like years." She frowned. "In fact it HAS been years! Ya pastra dala." Sonya continued, a slim hand tapping her heart. "You had better get in touch more often, or I'll come out their and pull your pigtails!" Ivanova stifled a giggle. "I tried to call you right back, but you'd shut off incoming calls. Ti nimagu spat? Same old Ivanova." Subtly, Morisova's demeanour changed. "I was so sorry to hear about Taji. I liked him, he even let me beat him a couple of times. He was a much better player than people gave him credit for, but he loved analysing the games more that the playing them, and some people treated him like he was little more than a talented commentator. He once told me, `The game itself has but one outcome, the analysis offers an infinite variety of them.'" The woman's face set like ice. "Find the bastards who did this, Susan. Find them and make them pay!" Sonya Morisova looked at something out of camera view in front of her, and Garibaldi could hear the faint peeps of a touch-board being operated. For a brief moment the woman studied it in silence. "I started from the assumption that Tajima would have spotted a familiar pattern of play in one of the games." Morisova commented, "That's the secret of beating most computers. If you can discover how the machine weighs-up the various possibilities, you can plan your strategy so that it will be ignored until it's too late, and the computer's in the chisnok up to its crystal-port." She snorted, derisively. "Well it wasn't too difficult to spot!" she drawled, "A couple of players are obviously using computers to cheat, but that's minor. The real jackpot is a series of games being played between Taylor, Barton, Wylie and Westmore. Two of these four play once every two or three weeks, but none of them ever play anyone else. Also all their games are strikingly similar. They start with unimaginative book openings, then labour through unimaginative and indecisive mid-games, which is pretty indicative of weak play. An average chess program would act much the same as it's swamped by the sheer number of possible moves. Their progress towards the end-game is a very drawn out affair, with both sides looking about eight or ten moves deep, but not formulating strategies. Then typically about move thirty-two to thirty-five, one or other player does something really stupid - like refuse a queen sacrifice - and has to resign a couple of moves later." Sonya arched an eyebrow at the screen. "The bottom line?" she asked, rhetorically, "Neither of the players is real. I ran a stochastic appraisal of the suspect games and the nearest match for both players is `Ziggurat', a fairly common public-domain chess program. The odd thing is that the moves made are rarely the optimum ones, but the forth or fifth alternative. I'm intrigued to know why." Morisova flashed another of her ravishing smiles from the screen. "I'd better go, this call is costing me a fortune! I hope I've been some help, and I REALLY mean it about keeping in touch!" She blew a kiss into camera. "Ya lyublyu ti! Do svyazee!" The image folded back into the Babcom logo. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Wed May 29 19:42:07 1996 Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 18:10:09 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 9. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 17. "Book openings, weak mid-games, long end-games..." Ivanova muttered, still staring at the now vacant screen, "I think we can be fairly sure that this is what Masanobu was going to talk to you about." With a few deft touches of the panel, the lieutenant commander notarised and filed the message for future reference. She hesitated briefly when asked to confirm, then assented with obvious misgivings. Gradually Susan became aware of the silence that surrounded her, she turned to look at Garibaldi. The security chief seemed to be deep in thought. Without a word to her, he activated his link. "Security office." he instructed. "Security." came the voice of his sergeant. "Jack, it's Garibaldi." Michael opened, "Round up six other guards and get them into full riot gear. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes." "Sure thing, Chief!" the officer replied. The link went dead. Garibaldi started down the steps from the commander's position and made towards the door. He stopped when he noticed Ivanova looking at him sourly. Her fingers drummed an angry cadence on the console in front of her. "What?" he asked. Her glare became stronger, but she said nothing. Sighing, Michael reopened the connection to his aide. "Jack, break out some body armour and a PPG for the lieutenant commander." he amended. Ivanova broke into a girlish grin and scampered down the stairs to where he waited. "Corwin, try not to break anything before I get back." she shouted over her shoulder, setting off through the door at an unseemly pace. Garibaldi hurried to catch her. They managed to go about a hundred yards before his curiosity overcame his caution. "Have you known each other long?" he asked, her. Ivanova nodded curtly. "She's very pretty." he noted. The lieutenant commander gave a non-committal grunt. The chief tried a more direct approach. "You must introduce me sometime." "If she wasn't a friend I'd consider it!" Ivanova snapped. She looked distinctly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, and promptly changed it. "Why the riot-gear, are you expecting trouble?" she asked. Garibaldi shrugged. "I always expect trouble." he replied, "But in this case I'm more worried about those poisoned strands. My people'll be a lot less vulnerable in armour!" He studied the woman officer out of the corner of his eye. "You know you'd still look cute with pig-tails." he remarked impishly. Susan came to an abrupt stop, forcing Garibaldi to backtrack a couple of steps. "If you mention that to ANYONE, I'll choke you with your own star- fury! Okay?" "Okay, okay!" the chief apologised, "Not another word, I promise!" They resumed their progress to the security office. "You really would, though." Garibaldi added. He smiled to himself as she almost missed a step. ---===***===--- "How do you breathe in these things?" Ivanova complained, volubly. Garibaldi sighed. She had flat refused to wear the riot-helmet, citing Garibaldi's not doing so to support her case. Now she plucked at the stiff, and restrictive, collar that pressed against her neck. "Now I know why all security guards seem to be asleep from the neck up!" she muttered. "I said I'm sorry, all right?" Garibaldi snapped at her, "Jack thought you were a size ten and you're a size twelve. Geez, it was a mistake, not a capital offence! You should be flattered." "What I am, Mr. Garibaldi, is FLATTENED!" She gave a savage tug at the front of the chest armour. "Anyway," she continued, "I'm an Earth-force officer, NOT a catwalk model!" "Ain't THAT the truth!" Michael muttered under his breath. Mentally, he kicked himself. "Pardon?" "I said that this is it." noted the relieved security officer. He indicated the door on his right. While he waited for Ivanova to take position the other side of the door, he took the opportunity to look around. Taylor's room was on Brown-66, one of the last levels before down- below. This area was less than one step away, and was in reality little more than a shanty town. What had been intended to be subsistence accommodation had been bought-up and subdivided. Then it was sub-let to those people who could afford no better, but could stomach no worse. Michael thought to himself. He toggled his link. "We're all set here, Jack." "You're the last, Chief." came Jack's voice, "Just give the word." "Do it." Michael ordered, and nodded to the lieutenant commander. Ivanova slapped an override into the lock mechanism, then dropped to one knee in the doorway. "Babylon 5 security, freeze!" she roared. Garibaldi had moved to cover the angles, and could see the frozen tableau inside. His heart sank. At Ivanova's first words the room's occupant had made a lunge at the video panel in the rooms far corner, only to be brought up short by the sight of her gun. The security chief stepped past her and into the room. He was aware that the lieutenant commander was looking at him like he was insane. he agreed. "Andrew Taylor?" he queried. Wide-eyed, the man nodded. Looking at him, Garibaldi could tell that Taylor was one of those chubby and cheerful types that everyone seems to know at least one of. Always on the edge of everyone's social circle, the ones that are never quite excluded, but that you never really feel close to. That would have been under normal circumstances. Here, in the forsaken depths of the station, Taylor's skin lacked the tautness of old, and its greyish pallor spoke of poor diet and too little light. Garibaldi recognised the haunted look in the man's eyes. It could be seen in anyone who lived this far down, if anybody cared enough to look for it. "Heavy!" the man said finally. Garibaldi glanced over at the screen in the corner, and it was obvious what the man had been making for before fear had stopped him. One end of a small PCB projected slightly from a slot beneath the eighteen inch tube, and a dangling ribbon cable connected it to a jumbled, bread-boarded circuit of obviously amateur construction. On the monitor two rows on men and women, in armour strikingly similar to that the chief wore, lined up to argue for possession of an insignificant, irregularly shaped ball. Taylor had been watching the sports coverage coming in live from Earth, coverage that was only available on the premium, scrambled, entertainment channels. The chief's link sounded for attention. "Yeah, Jack," he pre-empted, "I already know!" Chapter 18. Garibaldi sat on the edge of the room's small table, turning the home- made decryption box over in his hand again and again. Behind him he could hear the lieutenant commander burning off her adrenaline by rapidly pacing to-and-fro. "So you like sport then, Andrew?" the chief asked. Taylor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Looking up at Garibaldi, he nodded. "Just doesn't like paying for it!" Ivanova spat in passing. "S'expensive." mumbled the lurker, colourlessly. The command officer seemed to take his addressing her as a personal affront, and started scowling at him as she paced. Taylor hurriedly looked down at the table again. Michael turned and caught the lieutenant commander's eye. His expression was one of forced patience and Ivanova got the message. With a tut of annoyance, she stopped pacing. The chief looked pointedly at a small mantle set on one wall. Susan followed his gaze and noticed for the first time the picture that held pride of place. In the photograph, a happier, healthier version of the room's tenant cradled a new-born baby, swaddled in pink, and posed proudly for the camera. Arranged next to the picture was a woman's wedding ring, and a silver christening bible. Garibaldi turned back to the man. "What about games?" he added. "Sorry?" Taylor replied, unsurely. "Do you play any games?" the chief repeated, "Bridge, chess, dominoes, snap?" "Some Brag." Taylor confessed, "Maybe Poker, if I've got work." Garibaldi broke off his scrutiny of the lurker and looked over at Ivanova, he shook his head slightly. He tossed the illegal descrambler lightly in his hand. "Did you make this?" he asked. "Yeah." the lurker admitted with a resigned voice. "It's pretty sophisticated work. Can it get the cartoon channel?" Taylor shook his head. "Well it's no good to me then." the chief added with a shrug. He placed the box on the table and shoved it towards the other man. "Let's go!" he called to Ivanova. The Russian stared at him. "That's it!?" she yelled. "He's obviously not the man we were after." Garibaldi remarked. "You're not buying this `deprived life' front are you?" Susan argued, "It doesn't wash. If he's so poor, how can he afford his B5EC payments?" "I don't." Taylor interjected. As Ivanova stared at him he explained, "I ain't a B5EC member." "Strange that your subscription is fully paid up then, isn't it!" Defensively, the lurker replied, "News to me! They got baths there?" The two officers exchanged shocked stares. Garibaldi opened a channel to his second in command. "Jack, it's the chief, check if any of the others are B5EC members." he asked, "I think you'll find the answer's `no'." Ivanova led the way back out into the corridor. Garibaldi stopped in the doorway and glanced back at the room's sole occupant. He gestured at the breadboard. "Show that to Gaffy Saul on Red-28. He fixes-up broken and surplus electronics for resale, he might take you on." Garibaldi suggested. He glanced around the cramped quarters one last time. "It's got to be better pay than you're getting now!" he added. ---===***===--- Ivanova was waiting for him on the colonnade, looking somewhat out of place in her crisp uniform and ill-fitting body-armour. As passers-by looked up at her, the lieutenant commander would stare them down into they averted their eyes and shuffled on. Garibaldi could shake a slight feeling of distaste at her attitude. "What were you saying to him?" Ivanova asked, as he drew near. "I was telling him to put his talents to better use." the chief answered. To her confused expression, he added "I let him know where there might be a job going." Susan snorted. "Why should you care?" "Because I've been there, okay?" Michael answered with undisguised venom, "And I was given a chance to pick myself up! So now I'm passing on the favour." Ivanova just shook her head in disbelief and Garibaldi's anger boiled over. "Just were the hell do you get off unloading on these people?" he spat, "What is it, you think these people don't have enough to contend with?" The lieutenant commander stiffened as she walked and Garibaldi instantly regretted his words. "Sorry." he muttered, "But I've had it up to here with people who think failure is a capital offence!" He slapped the edge of his hand against his forehead, in unconscious mockery of a salute. They reached the entrance to the transport tubes and Ivanova hit the call button. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about this, I'm sorry." she apologised. When the security chief didn't answer she looked back down the route they'd just come. Drab, humbled figures wandered back and forth on probably futile journeys. Faceless and nameless, in death as in life. Ivanova shuddered. "It just seems that wherever we go, there are always people like this. It's like they WANT to live this way!" In a voice rich in bitterness, Garibaldi replied, "Speaking from experience. Believe me, they don't!" The two officers lingered in silence for the tube-car to arrive. Inside the car, Garibaldi's link sounded for attention. It was his aide who spoke. "You were right, Chief, all of them deny having anything to do with B5EC." Jack confirmed, then paused before adding, "But then, they would." "Yeah." Garibaldi admitted, "You had better check on what they earn and what they spend. Interview their neighbours, work-mates. Hell, talk to their pets!" The chief turned to look at Ivanova and added, "But don't be too concerned with minor anomalies, neither they or us needs any more hassle." He signed off. "I don't get it!" Ivanova admitted, "If they aren't B5EC members, then whose been paying their dues?" Michael shrugged, "Someone must be impersonating them." "But then, why not just use false ID. It'd be a lot easier and safer than walking round with a duplicate of someone else's on the station." The lieutenant commander shook her head. "I mean, one of these people gets a better job, starts thinking about some classier recreation. And, boom, the whole scam's blown!" "They probably had a reason." replied Garibaldi, "Maybe they thought it safer to look like bona fide station residents when they met with Margaret Thornell." At Ivanova's perplexed expression he added, "She's in charge of all enrolment." "I thought she was supposed to be showing Masanobu around?" Susan queried, "Come to think of it, why hasn't she called to find out what's happened to him?" "Damn!" shouted Garibaldi. Angrily, he slapped his link. "Relay message to all security personnel." he instructed the communications computer, "Be on the look out for Margaret Thornell. If you see her, detain her, but don't do it without backup!" He turner to Ivanova and explained, "Why not use false ID? Because if all you are fooling is a computer, you just need the information, not an actual body. And as the computer's already GOT that data..." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sat Jun 15 13:50:09 1996 Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 17:53:46 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 8. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 15. "Londo and G'Kar playing chess!?" Ivanova gawked, "You are kidding, right?" Garibaldi shook his head. "Swear to God." he confirmed, "Though to hear them, you'd think they were reliving the last hundred years." Belatedly, he noticed that all the old newspapers had been gathered into a tidy pile by the side of his desk. "How did you get on with the chess games?" he asked Ivanova. "Oh yes." Ivanova noted , as if remembering, "Thank you for that little addition to today's list of irritations. I mean we wouldn't want me getting bored, would we. Heaven forbid I should ever look at anything other than a computer screen." "Pax already!" the security chief sighed, "Next time YOU can run around making a fool of yourself, while I stay sat in the comfortable office. What's your problem?" "Your office is NOT that comfortable!" the lieutenant commander argued. Garibaldi just stared at her patiently until she caved. "all right, enough with the teddy-bear look." she admitted, "I can take care of myself, Michael, and I DON'T like being patronised!" "Hey I wasn't trying to baby-sit you." Garibaldi lied, "I just work better with my own people." He could see she wasn't convinced. "Do you want me to hang around C&C sometime and help you out?" "Try it and you'll be helping Dr. Franklin practise his splints!" Ivanova growled. "Exactly!" remarked Garibaldi, uncomfortably. He shifted his position slightly and tried again. "About the chess games?" "All the players checked out. Although, if that's a good or bad thing..." The Russian shrugged. "The computer says the games are fine, all above board. No particular one, or series, stands out from the rest as being in any way unusual." Ivanova reported. Then hastened to qualify the remark. "But that doesn't mean that one or more of them isn't a chess code." "Yeah? Well we're putting a hell of a lot of effort into this on the basis of diddly-squat." answered Garibaldi, belligerently, "A chess-code able to carry complex information, yet which produces results indistinguishable from a real match? That's like..." "An invisible poison that doesn't leave traces?" Ivanova broke in, innocently. Garibaldi's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Susan just smiled at him. "I decided to find out a little more about Masanobu Tajima, so I had the computer search for any references to him. It seems he wasn't highly thought of as a chess player, despite being a grand master. He appears to have concentrated on theoretical studies of chess, with especial regard to how computers play. Did you know that he was the last human player to beat a computer in tournament play? He won 8-7 against `Deep Purple' in `44." "Hey, I remember!" the chief exclaimed, "Wasn't that an off-shoot of the `Deep Throat' project?" "That's `Deep Thought', Mr. Garibaldi!" Ivanova corrected. Garibaldi put on a hurt look. "It was just a gag." he explained. The lieutenant commander scowled. "What?" Michael queried disingenuously. Susan ignored him. "So my guess is that the chess code is very subtle. Something only a dedicated chess THEORIST would spot." "Oh great!" spat Garibaldi bitterly, throwing his hands up, "I knew my parties had been lacking something, I don't KNOW any chess theorists!" "I do." Ivanova commented quietly. Garibaldi froze, then slowly turned he head to look at her. "A friend I grew up with, Sonya Morisova." she continued, "She's only an international master, but she's biased towards theory, and she knew our murder victim." In response to Garibaldi's raised eyebrows, Ivanova added, "She's one of the references the computer threw up." Garibaldi brought up the Babcom screen on his desk console. "Well let's give her a call!" he said, looking expectantly at Ivanova. "Michael, do you have any idea what time it is in Russia?" Susan snapped at him. Garibaldi shook his head. "About the same as it is here." she supplied, "Late!" Unconsciously, Garibaldi glanced at his watch. "Still, this IS pretty important." the security officer persisted. "I've sent her a message explaining the situation, with a selection of games attached." Ivanova explained, "If I know Sonya, you'll get an answer tomorrow!" Michael looked to be on the verge of protesting further, but Ivanova stared him down. "Look, I've had a long, and not particularly enjoyable, day. I want a shower, a drink, and plenty of sleep." She stood up and made for the door. She stopped just outside. "Coming?" she asked. "Well, all right," Garibaldi replied hesitantly, following her into the corridor, "but it's going to be pretty crowded in your shower with both of us." A passing crew-member giggled as she overhead and Ivanova virtually snarled at him. "Okay, okay!" he surrendered, and the lieutenant commander subsided. He waited just long enough for another crewman to pass close. "You can go first. Just leave me some hot water." "Garibaldi!" came the outraged shout. Chapter 16. Ivanova looked at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. she thought to herself, and glanced in the direction her feet told her was upwards, She finished rinsing and walked towards the Dry-lite. A guard sauntered into the fresher, his grey jacket casually disarrayed. Hands in pockets, he walked with a relaxed roll, his shoulders forming a gentle, comfortable, curve. Susan hated him on sight. Worse was to come. The man whistled - tunelessly, aimlessly, carelessly. Every note, every gesture, shouted how at ease he was with the world. The lieutenant commander glowered at him as he passed. Sensing the attention, the guard turned his head slightly and gave her a greeting smile and nod, and Susan noticed that his sharp, clear eyes sparkled. Under the sterilising brilliance, Ivanova's hands clenched into fists so tight the flesh creaked. She threw another glance `heavenward'. she added. Rejoining the main causeway of Blue-2, Ivanova dragged herself to a more reasonable semblance of consciousness and started in the direction of C&C again. She had seen the commander leaving the cafeteria by himself, just as she had entered. Unusually, Garibaldi had been nowhere to be found and Ivanova had to eat her breakfast alone, and in silence. the lieutenant commander had pondered, With a start Susan had realised she missed watching Garibaldi eat. Reflecting on this fact as she cut through the security section to Blue-1, Ivanova decided that this must be because it made her feel so much better about herself. The lieutenant commander glanced briefly into the security office as she passed, but it was the chief's aide, Jack, who looked up. she concluded, somewhat buoyed, Susan wondered about sending him a wake up call, something not quite loud enough to puncture the hull. With thoughts like these to cheer her, by the time she walked into C&C she was even smiling. Garibaldi was draped over one of the side rails, sharing some anecdote with the two female tech-staff in the pit beneath him. The women were flushed and breathless from laughing, and Ivanova concluded that the story must have been going for some time. "So this guy's hopping up and down a chalk line on the deck," the security chief continued, unaware of Ivanova's arrival, "alternately touching his nose with each index finger, AND singing the whole third act of his favourite Centauri opera, when Ambassador Mollari storms into my office to complain about us hauling his guest in on a `drunk and disorderly'. Well he makes it about as far as `Mr. Garibaldi, I must PROTEST...' before it sinks in what this guy is doing." Garibaldi leaned further over, conspiratorially, "Well Londo just looks me right in the eye, and says, `Great Maker, Mr. Garibaldi, get him into a cell quickly! If G'Kar were to see him like this, I'd never hear the end of it!" The two women's jaws fell open and they gasped convulsively. Their laughter sounded in unconscious harmony, while Garibaldi straightened and bowed, like an artist receiving his applause. Ivanova cleared her throat resoundingly and the technicians fell silent, apart from the odd stifled chuckle. Garibaldi stiffened. "Lieutenant Commander." he greeted her, without turning round. "Have you decided that Franklin DOES need practise setting bones, Garibaldi?" Susan asked him, "Or is this some perverse desire for pain you've been keeping from us?" "I just thought I'd make the journey to see you for a change." the chief explained, defensively. He turned to face her, then took a half step backwards. "Woah!" he exclaimed, "Rough night?" The Russian fumed. "Just what ARE you here for?" she demanded. "You're friend sent a reply early this morning." Garibaldi told her, "So..." He let the sentence hang. "I know, it was waiting for me when I woke up. But I haven't..." Susan paused, "How did YOU know about the message? Have you been reading my mail?" "Reading, no. But I did put a tag on your delivery log." the chief admitted. He saw the lieutenant commander draw breath for an argument. "Hey, it WAS important!" he remarked. Ivanova counted to ten in her head, and let it go. "Okay, THIS time!" she accepted, then continued, "I'll take it in the commander's office. To save distracting anybody further!" She stared around the room at the command staff. Suddenly, everyone looked busy. She walked up the steps to the commander's console, and sat down heavily in the seat. "Computer, play the message from Sonya Morisova." she instructed. While the correct file was found and queued, Ivanova glanced at Garibaldi, who was hovering round the bottom of the stairs like a scolded pet. "Well come on then!" she remarked. Garibaldi made it to the console just as the replay started. The familiar Babcom logo was replaced by Sonya's head and shoulders. Garibaldi whistled. The woman was blonde, her hair falling in gentle waves to frame a delicate, elfin face. A tender mouth was set above her pointed chin, and a softly rounded jaw-line vanished into her high, wide cheekbones. Her eyes were sapphire blue, their size accentuated by her pencil fine eyebrows. "Ouch!" Garibaldi whispered. Ivanova snorted irritably. "Susan!" Sonya began, breaking into a devastating smile, "I was so glad to get your message, it seems like years." She frowned. "In fact it HAS been years! Ya pastra dala." Sonya continued, a slim hand tapping her heart. "You had better get in touch more often, or I'll come out their and pull your pigtails!" Ivanova stifled a giggle. "I tried to call you right back, but you'd shut off incoming calls. Ti nimagu spat? Same old Ivanova." Subtly, Morisova's demeanour changed. "I was so sorry to hear about Taji. I liked him, he even let me beat him a couple of times. He was a much better player than people gave him credit for, but he loved analysing the games more that the playing them, and some people treated him like he was little more than a talented commentator. He once told me, `The game itself has but one outcome, the analysis offers an infinite variety of them.'" The woman's face set like ice. "Find the bastards who did this, Susan. Find them and make them pay!" Sonya Morisova looked at something out of camera view in front of her, and Garibaldi could hear the faint peeps of a touch-board being operated. For a brief moment the woman studied it in silence. "I started from the assumption that Tajima would have spotted a familiar pattern of play in one of the games." Morisova commented, "That's the secret of beating most computers. If you can discover how the machine weighs-up the various possibilities, you can plan your strategy so that it will be ignored until it's too late, and the computer's in the chisnok up to its crystal-port." She snorted, derisively. "Well it wasn't too difficult to spot!" she drawled, "A couple of players are obviously using computers to cheat, but that's minor. The real jackpot is a series of games being played between Taylor, Barton, Wylie and Westmore. Two of these four play once every two or three weeks, but none of them ever play anyone else. Also all their games are strikingly similar. They start with unimaginative book openings, then labour through unimaginative and indecisive mid-games, which is pretty indicative of weak play. An average chess program would act much the same as it's swamped by the sheer number of possible moves. Their progress towards the end-game is a very drawn out affair, with both sides looking about eight or ten moves deep, but not formulating strategies. Then typically about move thirty-two to thirty-five, one or other player does something really stupid - like refuse a queen sacrifice - and has to resign a couple of moves later." Sonya arched an eyebrow at the screen. "The bottom line?" she asked, rhetorically, "Neither of the players is real. I ran a stochastic appraisal of the suspect games and the nearest match for both players is `Ziggurat', a fairly common public-domain chess program. The odd thing is that the moves made are rarely the optimum ones, but the forth or fifth alternative. I'm intrigued to know why." Morisova flashed another of her ravishing smiles from the screen. "I'd better go, this call is costing me a fortune! I hope I've been some help, and I REALLY mean it about keeping in touch!" She blew a kiss into camera. "Ya lyublyu ti! Do svyazee!" The image folded back into the Babcom logo. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sat Jun 15 13:50:13 1996 Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 18:10:09 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 9. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 17. "Book openings, weak mid-games, long end-games..." Ivanova muttered, still staring at the now vacant screen, "I think we can be fairly sure that this is what Masanobu was going to talk to you about." With a few deft touches of the panel, the lieutenant commander notarised and filed the message for future reference. She hesitated briefly when asked to confirm, then assented with obvious misgivings. Gradually Susan became aware of the silence that surrounded her, she turned to look at Garibaldi. The security chief seemed to be deep in thought. Without a word to her, he activated his link. "Security office." he instructed. "Security." came the voice of his sergeant. "Jack, it's Garibaldi." Michael opened, "Round up six other guards and get them into full riot gear. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes." "Sure thing, Chief!" the officer replied. The link went dead. Garibaldi started down the steps from the commander's position and made towards the door. He stopped when he noticed Ivanova looking at him sourly. Her fingers drummed an angry cadence on the console in front of her. "What?" he asked. Her glare became stronger, but she said nothing. Sighing, Michael reopened the connection to his aide. "Jack, break out some body armour and a PPG for the lieutenant commander." he amended. Ivanova broke into a girlish grin and scampered down the stairs to where he waited. "Corwin, try not to break anything before I get back." she shouted over her shoulder, setting off through the door at an unseemly pace. Garibaldi hurried to catch her. They managed to go about a hundred yards before his curiosity overcame his caution. "Have you known each other long?" he asked, her. Ivanova nodded curtly. "She's very pretty." he noted. The lieutenant commander gave a non-committal grunt. The chief tried a more direct approach. "You must introduce me sometime." "If she wasn't a friend I'd consider it!" Ivanova snapped. She looked distinctly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, and promptly changed it. "Why the riot-gear, are you expecting trouble?" she asked. Garibaldi shrugged. "I always expect trouble." he replied, "But in this case I'm more worried about those poisoned strands. My people'll be a lot less vulnerable in armour!" He studied the woman officer out of the corner of his eye. "You know you'd still look cute with pig-tails." he remarked impishly. Susan came to an abrupt stop, forcing Garibaldi to backtrack a couple of steps. "If you mention that to ANYONE, I'll choke you with your own star- fury! Okay?" "Okay, okay!" the chief apologised, "Not another word, I promise!" They resumed their progress to the security office. "You really would, though." Garibaldi added. He smiled to himself as she almost missed a step. ---===***===--- "How do you breathe in these things?" Ivanova complained, volubly. Garibaldi sighed. She had flat refused to wear the riot-helmet, citing Garibaldi's not doing so to support her case. Now she plucked at the stiff, and restrictive, collar that pressed against her neck. "Now I know why all security guards seem to be asleep from the neck up!" she muttered. "I said I'm sorry, all right?" Garibaldi snapped at her, "Jack thought you were a size ten and you're a size twelve. Geez, it was a mistake, not a capital offence! You should be flattered." "What I am, Mr. Garibaldi, is FLATTENED!" She gave a savage tug at the front of the chest armour. "Anyway," she continued, "I'm an Earth-force officer, NOT a catwalk model!" "Ain't THAT the truth!" Michael muttered under his breath. Mentally, he kicked himself. "Pardon?" "I said that this is it." noted the relieved security officer. He indicated the door on his right. While he waited for Ivanova to take position the other side of the door, he took the opportunity to look around. Taylor's room was on Brown-66, one of the last levels before down- below. This area was less than one step away, and was in reality little more than a shanty town. What had been intended to be subsistence accommodation had been bought-up and subdivided. Then it was sub-let to those people who could afford no better, but could stomach no worse. Michael thought to himself. He toggled his link. "We're all set here, Jack." "You're the last, Chief." came Jack's voice, "Just give the word." "Do it." Michael ordered, and nodded to the lieutenant commander. Ivanova slapped an override into the lock mechanism, then dropped to one knee in the doorway. "Babylon 5 security, freeze!" she roared. Garibaldi had moved to cover the angles, and could see the frozen tableau inside. His heart sank. At Ivanova's first words the room's occupant had made a lunge at the video panel in the rooms far corner, only to be brought up short by the sight of her gun. The security chief stepped past her and into the room. He was aware that the lieutenant commander was looking at him like he was insane. he agreed. "Andrew Taylor?" he queried. Wide-eyed, the man nodded. Looking at him, Garibaldi could tell that Taylor was one of those chubby and cheerful types that everyone seems to know at least one of. Always on the edge of everyone's social circle, the ones that are never quite excluded, but that you never really feel close to. That would have been under normal circumstances. Here, in the forsaken depths of the station, Taylor's skin lacked the tautness of old, and its greyish pallor spoke of poor diet and too little light. Garibaldi recognised the haunted look in the man's eyes. It could be seen in anyone who lived this far down, if anybody cared enough to look for it. "Heavy!" the man said finally. Garibaldi glanced over at the screen in the corner, and it was obvious what the man had been making for before fear had stopped him. One end of a small PCB projected slightly from a slot beneath the eighteen inch tube, and a dangling ribbon cable connected it to a jumbled, bread-boarded circuit of obviously amateur construction. On the monitor two rows on men and women, in armour strikingly similar to that the chief wore, lined up to argue for possession of an insignificant, irregularly shaped ball. Taylor had been watching the sports coverage coming in live from Earth, coverage that was only available on the premium, scrambled, entertainment channels. The chief's link sounded for attention. "Yeah, Jack," he pre-empted, "I already know!" Chapter 18. Garibaldi sat on the edge of the room's small table, turning the home- made decryption box over in his hand again and again. Behind him he could hear the lieutenant commander burning off her adrenaline by rapidly pacing to-and-fro. "So you like sport then, Andrew?" the chief asked. Taylor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Looking up at Garibaldi, he nodded. "Just doesn't like paying for it!" Ivanova spat in passing. "S'expensive." mumbled the lurker, colourlessly. The command officer seemed to take his addressing her as a personal affront, and started scowling at him as she paced. Taylor hurriedly looked down at the table again. Michael turned and caught the lieutenant commander's eye. His expression was one of forced patience and Ivanova got the message. With a tut of annoyance, she stopped pacing. The chief looked pointedly at a small mantle set on one wall. Susan followed his gaze and noticed for the first time the picture that held pride of place. In the photograph, a happier, healthier version of the room's tenant cradled a new-born baby, swaddled in pink, and posed proudly for the camera. Arranged next to the picture was a woman's wedding ring, and a silver christening bible. Garibaldi turned back to the man. "What about games?" he added. "Sorry?" Taylor replied, unsurely. "Do you play any games?" the chief repeated, "Bridge, chess, dominoes, snap?" "Some Brag." Taylor confessed, "Maybe Poker, if I've got work." Garibaldi broke off his scrutiny of the lurker and looked over at Ivanova, he shook his head slightly. He tossed the illegal descrambler lightly in his hand. "Did you make this?" he asked. "Yeah." the lurker admitted with a resigned voice. "It's pretty sophisticated work. Can it get the cartoon channel?" Taylor shook his head. "Well it's no good to me then." the chief added with a shrug. He placed the box on the table and shoved it towards the other man. "Let's go!" he called to Ivanova. The Russian stared at him. "That's it!?" she yelled. "He's obviously not the man we were after." Garibaldi remarked. "You're not buying this `deprived life' front are you?" Susan argued, "It doesn't wash. If he's so poor, how can he afford his B5EC payments?" "I don't." Taylor interjected. As Ivanova stared at him he explained, "I ain't a B5EC member." "Strange that your subscription is fully paid up then, isn't it!" Defensively, the lurker replied, "News to me! They got baths there?" The two officers exchanged shocked stares. Garibaldi opened a channel to his second in command. "Jack, it's the chief, check if any of the others are B5EC members." he asked, "I think you'll find the answer's `no'." Ivanova led the way back out into the corridor. Garibaldi stopped in the doorway and glanced back at the room's sole occupant. He gestured at the breadboard. "Show that to Gaffy Saul on Red-28. He fixes-up broken and surplus electronics for resale, he might take you on." Garibaldi suggested. He glanced around the cramped quarters one last time. "It's got to be better pay than you're getting now!" he added. ---===***===--- Ivanova was waiting for him on the colonnade, looking somewhat out of place in her crisp uniform and ill-fitting body-armour. As passers-by looked up at her, the lieutenant commander would stare them down into they averted their eyes and shuffled on. Garibaldi could shake a slight feeling of distaste at her attitude. "What were you saying to him?" Ivanova asked, as he drew near. "I was telling him to put his talents to better use." the chief answered. To her confused expression, he added "I let him know where there might be a job going." Susan snorted. "Why should you care?" "Because I've been there, okay?" Michael answered with undisguised venom, "And I was given a chance to pick myself up! So now I'm passing on the favour." Ivanova just shook her head in disbelief and Garibaldi's anger boiled over. "Just were the hell do you get off unloading on these people?" he spat, "What is it, you think these people don't have enough to contend with?" The lieutenant commander stiffened as she walked and Garibaldi instantly regretted his words. "Sorry." he muttered, "But I've had it up to here with people who think failure is a capital offence!" He slapped the edge of his hand against his forehead, in unconscious mockery of a salute. They reached the entrance to the transport tubes and Ivanova hit the call button. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about this, I'm sorry." she apologised. When the security chief didn't answer she looked back down the route they'd just come. Drab, humbled figures wandered back and forth on probably futile journeys. Faceless and nameless, in death as in life. Ivanova shuddered. "It just seems that wherever we go, there are always people like this. It's like they WANT to live this way!" In a voice rich in bitterness, Garibaldi replied, "Speaking from experience. Believe me, they don't!" The two officers lingered in silence for the tube-car to arrive. Inside the car, Garibaldi's link sounded for attention. It was his aide who spoke. "You were right, Chief, all of them deny having anything to do with B5EC." Jack confirmed, then paused before adding, "But then, they would." "Yeah." Garibaldi admitted, "You had better check on what they earn and what they spend. Interview their neighbours, work-mates. Hell, talk to their pets!" The chief turned to look at Ivanova and added, "But don't be too concerned with minor anomalies, neither they or us needs any more hassle." He signed off. "I don't get it!" Ivanova admitted, "If they aren't B5EC members, then whose been paying their dues?" Michael shrugged, "Someone must be impersonating them." "But then, why not just use false ID. It'd be a lot easier and safer than walking round with a duplicate of someone else's on the station." The lieutenant commander shook her head. "I mean, one of these people gets a better job, starts thinking about some classier recreation. And, boom, the whole scam's blown!" "They probably had a reason." replied Garibaldi, "Maybe they thought it safer to look like bona fide station residents when they met with Margaret Thornell." At Ivanova's perplexed expression he added, "She's in charge of all enrolment." "I thought she was supposed to be showing Masanobu around?" Susan queried, "Come to think of it, why hasn't she called to find out what's happened to him?" "Damn!" shouted Garibaldi. Angrily, he slapped his link. "Relay message to all security personnel." he instructed the communications computer, "Be on the look out for Margaret Thornell. If you see her, detain her, but don't do it without backup!" He turner to Ivanova and explained, "Why not use false ID? Because if all you are fooling is a computer, you just need the information, not an actual body. And as the computer's already GOT that data..." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From dmb@any.isis.rl.ac.uk Sat Jun 15 13:56:14 1996 Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 18:01:13 -0100 From: Devious Brownies Reply-To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com To: b5-creative@lists1.best.com Subject: "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" - Part 10. "Ahoy, Ahoy Check!" ------------------- Chapter 19. Garibaldi tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, come on!" he encouraged the tube-car. His link sounded simultaneously with the arrival bell of the transport tube. He answered it as he walked. "Garibaldi, go!" "Chief, this is Welch." the response came. "Lou?" Michael said with obvious surprise, "You're not supposed to up yet!" "I'm not, sir, but it's pretty dull around here so I've been listening in." Lou explained, "It's about Thornell, I know where she is." "Where?" Garibaldi and Ivanova asked in unison. "She's here, in Med-lab. She was admitted with acute appendicitis sometime yesterday morning," Welch left a pause before continuing, "BEFORE the URSA guy got whacked!" Garibaldi grimaced at his officer's turn of phrase. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "Yeah. I'd heard one of the doctors discussing her condition earlier, so when the APB came I check the details with one of the nurses before calling you." "Good work, Lou!" the chief admitted, "Now turn off that damn link and get some rest before I come round there and punch you out!" He deactivated his link and glanced at Ivanova. She said only one word on the matter, "Nuts!" Garibaldi was just about to link in and cancel the manhunt when tiny communicator sounded again. "Garibaldi." he confirmed. "Sir, this is Sean Hamilton. I know we're looking for Margaret Thornell but..." "Not anymore, Sean," Michael corrected, "she's been in a med-lab since yesterday." "Oh, right!" Hamilton replied, disappointed, "Only, I just saw Ted Dearberg disappearing your way." "Dearberg, where?" "Well he was making a call from a public booth on Red-20, then took the monorail." the officer reported, "According to the logs I pulled, he paid for a trip all the way to Brown-70. He'll already be there by now, sorry." "It's okay Sean. Look, cancel the all-points on Thornell and spread the word on Dearberg." Garibaldi instructed, "Make sure that he doesn't double back, I'll use the team I've got with me to search for him at this end. Garibaldi out." Toggling his link, the chief announced, "Jack, it's Garibaldi. Thornell's out of the picture but her deputy, Ted Dearberg, is somewhere around Brown-70. What is the situation with the others?" After a pause for message to be delivered, the sergeant's reply came, "We're spread out all over Brown, checking alibis. "If you are still on 66, sir, then you're the nearest." As always, the junior security officer sounded unperturbed. "Great." was Garibaldi's sarcastic remark. "Get everyone to work their way back from Brown-65, the lieutenant commander and I will head for 70 and try to get a fix on him." ---===***===--- Ivanova and Garibaldi stood leaning on their knees and laboured to catch their breath. "Now what?" Susan asked the security officer between gasps, "Downbelow is a hell of a big place for just the two of us to search." "Now we head for the monorail terminus and hope somebody saw which way he went." Garibaldi replied in an equally ragged voice. "The only way off the station is thataway!" he added with a gesture, "So even down here we'll get him eventually. Unless he gets help!" "So why did we run here?" asked the exasperated Russian. "What, don't you want to be a size 10?" "If I wasn't so spent, Mr. Garibaldi, I'd kill you!" Ivanova snarled, as Garibaldi chuckled. She pulled herself upright. "Right, come on then!" The two officers set off again at a brisk walk. They had gone about three blocks when they heard an outraged shout from behind them. They turned just in time to see Dearberg come barrelling out of a side corridor, blithely knocking people aside in his rush. Astonished, Garibaldi muttered, "I don't believe it. Of all the luck..." He turned and set off in pursuit, Ivanova was just one pace behind. Turning the corner, they started to pick their way through the crowd, many of whom were helping fellow inhabitants to their feet. The two officers found their progress hindered by these small groups, but silently welcomed the clear trail they formed of Dearberg's progress. Finally they broke free of the crowd, and looking round, Ivanova spotted their quarry stood in a doorway at the far end of a short access-way. "Hey!" she shouted. Dearberg glanced round. With a look of horror he leapt through, pausing only to close the door behind him. Seconds later, Ivanova activated the control to re-open it while Garibaldi stood ready. The door opened onto a small landing, with stairs leading down in an apparently deserted gloom. Cautiously, Garibaldi stepped through, his sidearm held in preparation. Unable to make out much detail, the chief took a pace forward. Ivanova immediately stepped up behind him. The unmistakable whine of a charging PPG sounded loud in the silence of the bay. Spinning, Michael shoved Ivanova back through the doorway with all his force, and purple fire flashed in front of his face. The security officer struggled to regain his balance from the counter-force, but his foot met only air and he tumbled down the short flight of stairs to lay sprawled on his back on the floor below. His weapon skittered across the metal surface into the dark. Dearberg was just five yards away to his left. Quickly, the civilian swung the pistol to cover the stricken officer. Michael noticed that there was no malice in Dearberg's expression, only the blind panic of the hunted. As he saw Dearberg's finger tighten on the trigger, Garibaldi could only wonder whether he should close his eyes. In quick succession three of the short barks so distinctive of plasma fire echoed round the bay walls. Chapter 20. Garibaldi let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as Dearberg's frame crumpled to the floor at his feet. "Good shooting, Jack!" he praised, "But you're supposed to give a warning before opening fire!" The aid holstered his weapon and stepped forward to help his superior to his feet. "I didn't think I had time, sir." replied the younger security guard, "It's just lucky my first shot hit his arm and spoiled his aim!" Deliberately, he down-played the incident. Ivanova barrelled through the doorway above him, rubbing the back of her head gingerly. "What the HELL are you doing, Garibaldi!?" she yelled at him, then stopped as the diorama beneath her sank in. Susan let go a long whistle and commented, "Close call!" She gestured with her chin at the floor near Garibaldi. Michael looked down to see the yard long score of carbonisation that marked the path of the plasma-shot. It was mere inches from his side, and suddenly Garibaldi felt a little sick. He peered up at where the lieutenant command stood. "Close call yourself!" he remarked, looking past her shoulder. Ivanova glanced behind her. On the door-frame, at about head height was another black-splash relic of a plasma charge. She turned back to Garibaldi. "Okay, I owe you one." she admitted. "And I owe him one." the security chief amended, nodding at his aide, "So in effect, YOU owe him one. Which makes this," he said, now addressing Jack, "your lucky day!" Ivanova put her hands on her hips and pouted, one foot started to tap irritably. "No that's fine, really!" Jack replied, hurriedly, "Nothing personal Ma'am, just your, er, not my type!" If anything, Ivanova managed to look more affronted than before. Garibaldi started to chuckle. "That is to say, er..." floundered the guard. "If you stop now she may let you keep ONE of your lungs!" the chief advised. Looking back and forth between the boiling command officer and the sweating guard, Garibaldi cracked up. His laughter filled the silence of the room and downed his shock. "Oh man," he coughed, breathlessly, "I LOVE this job!" ---===***===--- Sinclair finished his quick read-through of the incident report and placed it carefully beside the console on his C&C `office' desk. He turned in his chair an regarded the two officers stood to attention beside him. "I spend far to much of my life reading these damn things!" came his light- hearted complaint, "Why don't you two summarise it for me?" Both Ivanova and Garibaldi started speaking at once, then stopped, then started again still in unison. After a second pause, Garibaldi broke in, "After you." "No, after you." the lieutenant commander replied. "Ladies first!" "Age before beauty!" "Then it's still you first." Garibaldi quipped. "Hey!" Susan exclaimed. "Lieutenant Commander Ivanova!" Sinclair interrupted them, pinching his eyes closed across the bridge of his nose, "You will go first." "Sir!" said Ivanova, coming to attention snappily, "We found a modified chess program in Dearberg's quarters. It appears to take a sixty digit number indicating a course and time, and the estimated value of the cargo. This number is used to direct the computer in how to play the game. Each move is calculated to a depth of eight with the best ten set aside, the appropriate digit of the input string is then used to pick a move from this list, starting with zero for the best up to nine for the worst. The whole process is then repeated for each digit in turn, producing a chess game that is practically indistinguishable from a real one. "So Ted Dearberg must have picked the targets and published his one or two choices weekly. The system he used was one-way, but we managed to decipher those games already published by hand. All but three of the compromised transfers have already been attacked. We have contacted two of the remainder and advised them to change their flight-plan, the third cargo was subcontracted to a Narn freighter so we've had to advise Ambassador G'Kar. I believe he's dispatched two squadrons of Frazi class fighters to escort it, which should make a nice surprise for the raiders!" "Also, Dearberg had been receiving royalty checks for a book he'd supposedly written called `Xenochess - The Alien Opponent', but it turns out neither the book nor the publisher exists so that's pretty obviously how he got his payoffs." the lieutenant commander concluded. Sinclair nodded his approval. "Michael, do you have anything to add?" the commander asked. "Well that was a pretty comprehensive list of our successes," Garibaldi noted, "so that just leaves ME to state our catalogue of failures." He started enumerating his points on his fingers, each new item bulleted by a quick jab from his other hand. "We don't know how he GOT his data, and obviously we can't ask. But I interviewed Thornell, and she considered him a bit of a guru with the B5EC database so we'll have to assume that he broke our security somehow. I've got Jack checking into that now, but even with a definite suspect it's a hell of a long-shot. Also, we didn't find the murder weapon, the spinner. He may have disposed of it right away, but the thought of that thing floating round the station somewhere gives me the willies. "Lastly, we were both lucky and unlucky to find Dearberg so fast when he ran. We don't know who he was going to meet in Downbelow, but whoever it was is pretty certainly working with the raiders from on-station. If we're fortunate, he'll clear off now his inside man is busted. Still, the raiders have done pretty well of late. Next time we run into them they'll very probably used some of that new-found wealth to spice up their operation." the chief shrugged, "Still, short of a couple of wings of star-furies I can't image them coming up with anything that'll give us too much trouble." Thoughtfully, Sinclair looked past his two friends and through the window into the depths of space. He strained his eyes to see beyond the infinity, but it was no use. Jeff thought privately, Aloud he quoted, "Thomas Huxley once said, `The chess-board is the world; the pieces are the phenomena of the universe; the rules of the game what we call the laws of nature. The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know his play is always fair, just, and patient. But also we know, to our cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest allowance for ignorance.'" "Of course." Ivanova concurred, "Which is why Russians make the best chess-players." Susan was distracted by something on the other side of C&C. "Are we keeping you awake, Voight?" she shouted, "I can see the red on your panel from here!" She excused herself and stamped down the steps to the main deck. Garibaldi heard a distant voice, presumably Voight's, explain how he was just looking at the problem. "Well DON'T just look at it, DO something about it!" carried the lieutenant commander's reprimand. "You know," Michael noted, "sometimes she REALLY frightens me!" Jeff laughed quietly. "Me too!" he admitted, then continued, "You did good, Michael. Come on, I'll buy you lunch!" "Sure thing!" the chief accepted happily, "Just so long as they don't have chequered tablecloths!" [The End] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------